


We Deserve Much Better Than We've Had

by sullymygoodname



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/pseuds/sullymygoodname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one week before the wedding and Arthur isn't nervous at all. But that's just the beginning. (Modern Day AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Deserve Much Better Than We've Had

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Planejane, Alba17, Blue_fjords, Valancy_joy, and Paragraphs for the beta and encouragement. Originally posted on April 1st, 2011 at [Dreamwidth](http://sullymygoodname.dreamwidth.org/1132.html).
> 
> The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the creator's imagination or are used fictitiously. This story does not reflect the views or opinions of any actual person portrayed herein.  
> ...Anyway, IT'S JUST ~~CLAY~~ ...er, FICTION!

  


**June**

The rehearsal dinner (What there is to rehearse, Arthur still doesn't know. There's walking, there's repeating the words after the minister, and then there's kissing. These are all simple things that any idiot could do without mucking up — probably even Merlin. But, tradition is tradition, or whatever. And he's doing it to make Gwen happy, so… the rehearsal dinner) was scheduled one week before the actual day. Instead of just the wedding party ( _Oh no_ , because that would have made life simple!), they'd had to arrange it around the schedules of every person in the known fucking world. Well, everyone they'd ever met, anyway. Or possibly just all of their friends and family: Arthur's father, an unfathomably busy man; Gwen's father and gran, much less busy but traveling a far greater distance; and Morgana had insisted that her new "friend" come, as well; plus a whole herd of others that Arthur is sure have no business being there at all. But they'd managed to find a day and time that suited everyone, and of course, _of course_ Arthur is late, because _someone_ doesn't know how to park a bloody car.

"Merlin, hurry up! We're already—" Arthur stops abruptly and turns back, glaring. "What are you doing?"

"My shoe's untied," Merlin says calmly, bent down, one knee on the pavement, fiddling with his laces.

"You walk around all day, every day with your shoes untied. We should just get you Velcro trainers like a five-year-old and be done with it." Arthur, arms folded across his chest, tries to calm himself with deep breaths. He looks up to the sky — it's a beautiful sunny day and he hopes the weather holds through the week — rolls his head, cracking his neck, and gazes around. "Great, look." Arthur gestures to a dark purple Prius. "Morgana's already here."

"Well, she is the maid of honor," Merlin says, flashing him a bright smile.

"And she got a better parking space than us." Arthur shifts his weight, impatiently. "Are you done? Can you walk now without falling on your face?"

"Probably." Merlin jogs to catch up and trips, stumbling into Arthur's side. "Possibly," he says, still hanging onto Arthur's elbow to steady himself. "Don't know why you're in such a mood today."

"Because we are late, Merlin. You're the best man; it's your job to get me to the church on time, you know." He hurries up the steps with Merlin just behind. "Everybody is here before me. How is that going to look?"

"Just tell them it's my fault. You would anyway."

"It _is_ your fault!" Arthur pulls the heavy oak doors open and steps into the cool air of the church, a sharp contrast to the warm sun at his back. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but then he sees the group of people down the other end of the aisle.

Morgana is the first to spot him. "Finally. We were starting to get worried," she says with a sardonic smile and not a trace of actual concern.

"Arthur!" Gwen rushes over to him, hand extended to just touch his arm. "You made it. Thought you might have changed your mind." Her smile is small, soft, and she gives a quiet laugh, fingers fluttering up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

Arthur takes her hand in his, squeezes it gently. "Don't be ridiculous—"

"It was my fault!" Merlin ducks around him, grinning a bit madly. "Arthur plans to have me flogged in the town square afterward as punishment. Everyone's invited!" At that Gwen laughs, bright and cheerful, and pulls Merlin into a quick hug.

Off to the side, Arthur hears his father's barely muffled grunt of disapproval in time to look up and see him none too discreetly checking his watch. "Right, well," Arthur says, trying to get everyone's attention. "We should get this—" he almost says 'over with', but corrects himself smoothly, "started, yeah?"

He holds his elbow out for Gwen to take; she wraps her fingers around it lightly, smiling up at him. Someone shoves his shoulder from behind.

"You two are meant to be up front by the altar," Morgana says, pointing to Arthur and Merlin. "Gwen and I walk down the aisle."

Arthur absolutely does not rub his shoulder, because that didn't hurt at all. He bends to kiss Gwen on the cheek, then grabs Merlin's sleeve and tugs him down the aisle. "Come on, Merlin."

The minister is there waiting for them, and everyone else takes a seat (really, Arthur wonders again, why are there so many other people here?). The minister, whose name Arthur has already forgotten even though he's met the man several times before, walks them through the ceremony. Morgana smirks at him as she saunters down the aisle, holding an imaginary bouquet of flowers. The minister says something about cueing the music and suddenly everyone stands up.

Arthur holds his breath as he watches Gwen on her father's arm. She practically glides right toward him. Their eyes meet, she smiles at him, and it's the strangest feeling Arthur's ever had in his life, a sort of… tight calm throughout his body. It's not at all how he imagined this moment might feel.

"Oi," Merlin whispers, elbowing him in the side. "It's just the rehearsal; don't look so nervous."

He rolls his eyes, elbowing Merlin back, and tugs at the hem of his shirt. He's not nervous.

* * *

While Arthur and Gwen are occupied talking with the minister and their parents, Merlin slips away to the back of the room. He'd like to go outside, get some air, some space away from all this, but he contents himself with leaning against a wall behind some tall potted plants near the entrance doors. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. One week to go.

"It's all a bit much to take, isn't it?" Morgana says quietly from somewhere very close by. Merlin's eyes open slowly to find her rounding the plant to come lean next to him. Although Morgana doesn't really lean. No, she more effortlessly poses like some sort of fashion model, all flowing hair and perfect skin and elegantly draped shawl-cape-wrap thingy around her shoulders. It looks cashmere. Merlin wants to touch it. Just a little bit.

Instead, he smiles. "Not much of a churchy guy. All the stuffy air and general repression gets to me." Morgana continues to gaze at him without saying a word. "But, you know, make exceptions for special occasions."

"And you keep smiling through it all."

Merlin gives a nervous, hollow laugh and covers it by clearing his throat. And, yes, smiles widely. "Two of my best friends are getting married. To each other! What guy wouldn't be happy about that?"

"Yes," Morgana says, with a small, sad curve of her lips. Her eyes flick away from him and fix on a new point in the distance. "We were always a bit hopeless, you and I."

Merlin follows her gaze across the hall to Gwen smiling and laughing with her father and two of her other girlfriends from work. He looks back at Morgana. "Still? Really?"

Morgana turns on him, one eyebrow raised, and manages to gesture with a simple nod of her head. "Still? Really?"

He glances back and, yes, that's Arthur standing there with his father and possibly one of his father's business associates. The sunlight shining through the stained glass window behind Arthur makes him glow like one of those paintings of a saint.

Merlin sighs, looks down at his feet. Laces have come untied again. "It's been years," he says quietly to Morgana. "You know I gave up any hope of that a long time ago. Besides," he nods toward Arthur and Gwen, and smiles, "they're perfect together. Always have been, even when they didn't know it."

"They did always have somewhat of a timing issue. Arthur had a crush on her when we were kids. Gwen had a crush on him at university. It _was_ a bit of a relief when they finally got it sorted."

"Exactly," Merlin agrees, nodding his head decisively. "And now they'll get the house and the dog and I'll just be Arthur's old housemate from uni that they only see on birthdays and holidays. And then they'll have kids, of course, and no more time for even a quick pint down the pub to catch up. Just as it should be." Tearing his eyes away from the happy couple, he grins for Morgana. He'd wink, as well, but that would just be weird. She stares back impassively.

"We're pretty terrible liars for people who've been doing it constantly for years." Morgana straightens up and links her arm through his. "Come along. I want to introduce you to a very dear friend of mine."

* * *

The restaurant is only a couple streets over, so they walk from the church. Well… most of them walk. Gwen rides with her father and grandmother. Mr. Pendragon and Co. take their ridiculous cars. Merlin's more than happy to walk if it means less time spent in that terrifying man's presence. He hangs back from the group and walks beside Arthur.

"You've got your thoughtful face on," he says, bumping Arthur's shoulder. "You'll give yourself a headache."

"You met her then?" Arthur asks.

"Who? You mean Morgause?" He indicates the striking blonde woman ahead of them, her arm linked with Morgana's. "Yeah. She seems… interesting."

"Bloody terrifying, more like," Arthur says.

"Well, that too." Merlin grins. "So, they met online, huh?"

"Yeah, some internet… support group thing. She says they've been talking for about a year now."

"Morgana is bringing her to the wedding, then?"

"I guess." Arthur kicks a rock out of his path. "And I suppose you'll be bringing Will. I do wish you would finally just break up with him."

"And for the eleventy-billionth time, I am not now, nor have I ever been, dating Will. He's practically my brother." Merlin's pulling a face, he's sure, because gross! And _ugh._ And when will Arthur let that go? "And, no, I'm not bringing him to the wedding—"

"Too right, you're not."

"Because Gwen invited him."

"What?" Arthur stops short, and now who's pulling faces? Merlin smiles beatifically.

"To the reception, at least," he says. "To which, I am sure, he's bringing his own date." Merlin pauses, clears his throat. "It's not going to be an open bar, right? Because you know that only spells disaster."

"I order you to keep him on a leash." Arthur waves his finger in Merlin's face. "I'll not have him ruining Gwen's day." He ignores Merlin's raised eyebrows, and starts walking again to catch up the others. "But you can't come on your own. That just looks… sad."

"Thanks a bunch," Merlin mutters, knocking their elbows together. "Anyway, I think it's traditional for the best man to shag the maid of honor—" Arthur glowers at him and, to his credit, Merlin shrinks back sheepishly. "But since the maid of honor is your sister and also, you know, a _girl_ , I don't think that'll be happening. Besides, I've got my own plus one, so there."

"You've been holding out on me?" Arthur smirks at him, throws his arm around Merlin's shoulders and pulls him into a headlock. "No details, mind, but who's the guy? How long have you known him? Is he good?"

Merlin shoves his way out of Arthur's grasp. "Watch the hair," he says, ignoring Arthur's eye roll. "You remember my mate Lance. From uni? He's been working with MSF the last couple of years?"

"Oh, yeah. Ran away to join _Médecins Sans Frontières_ like a big show off. _'I'm going to save little children, aren't I dashing?'_ I remember him, yes." Arthur frowns. "I remember he made a move on Gwen."

"That was five years ago, Arthur. You weren't even together then. And your impersonation is rubbish."

Arthur scoffs haughtily. "Why's he come back now?"

"Dunno." Merlin shrugs. "His tour's up, or whatever. He's here to interview for a job at the hospital."

"Gwen's hospital?" Arthur pulls another one of his absurd faces, like he's smelt something rotten.

Merlin laughs. "God, you _are_ jealous. She's marrying _you_ , Arthur." Merlin shoves him, maybe a little harder than is strictly friendly, but Arthur's always punching him in the arm or slapping him on the back of the head, so it's totally fair. Arthur shoves him back, then pulls him into another headlock and then they're wrestling as they walk, right out in the street until everyone turns back to stare at them.

Arthur pushes him away, straightens up and saunters on like nothing happened.

They're the last to arrive at the restaurant — Arthur looks pointedly at Merlin. Leon, Uther's right-hand man, is the one to greet them and show them to the private party room reserved just for them. Arthur kisses Gwen on the cheek before making his rounds to speak with all the others there. Merlin picks a seat in the corner near Morgana, but she's too engaged with her friend to fully notice him.

"Good evening, sir," a voice startles him.

Merlin's eyes travel up the length of the man's body — black trousers hugging his hips, black shirt with the top two buttons undone revealing a bit of chest hair and accentuating his slender neck — to his face, just enough stubble to be fashionable and… _Good god,_ hair Merlin wouldn't mind running his fingers through.

"My name is Gwaine and I'll be your waiter this evening. The others have already ordered their drinks. Can I get you anything?"

"Uh—" Merlin chokes, coughs, mouth dry. "Um, I—Yeah, um—"

"Merlin. What are you doing sitting over there?" Arthur stalks right past the waiter, grabs Merlin by the arm and drags him over to sit at the head of the table. "You're supposed to sit at my side. Here." He shoves a glass into Merlin's hand. Somehow Morgana's already moved to the other side of Gwen; she's standing, clinking a fork on her glass to get everyone's attention.

"Merlin?" she says, raising one finely sculpted eyebrow at him.

"Oh, right!" They'd planned this all out. Merlin gets back to his feet, clutching his glass a little too tightly. Speech-making has never been his forte. "Right, right. Best man here." He smiles a little too widely and tries not to focus on all the eyes staring at him.

Morgana starts, her voice steady and smooth. "I've known both Gwen and Arthur practically my entire life. We grew up together, the three of us nearly inseparable. Gwen and I used to tell people we were sisters and, though we'd got some skeptical looks, no one would dare deny us." The crowd chuckles quietly. "And now, my Gwen," Morgana looks down at her fondly, and probably only Merlin can decipher the softness in her eyes, "now we _will_ be sisters."

Gwen rises from her chair and wraps her arms around Morgana's neck. Morgana looks almost startled for a moment, but hugs Gwen back tightly. When they part, Gwen gives her a peck on the cheek before resuming her seat.

"Right. My go," Merlin starts, to pull everyone's attention away from Morgana, still standing. "Uh. I met Arthur my first day at university. Let it be said that first impressions are definitely not everything."

Everyone laughs a little louder at that.

"The first words he ever said to me were, 'Oi, you with the ears, help me move this desk before my new idiot roommate shows up.' Little did he know…" Merlin pauses for more laughter, just like he'd practiced. He's glad this is going over so well. "I met Gwen later that very same day, like an angel sent from the heavens. Never was there a kinder, sweeter person on Earth. I don't know what she sees in him," he says, aiming his thumb at Arthur.

"Gwen is the one that brought us together," Morgana picks up. "At eight years old, losing my mother and moving from being an only child to suddenly having a brother and a father I didn't know how to cope with…" Morgana pauses for a steadying breath. Arthur is watching her, a worried furrow in his brow; he knows she never likes to talk about that. "If it hadn't been for Gwen, I'm not sure Arthur and I ever would have gotten along."

"We get along?" Arthur quips, but Merlin can see the smile in his eyes.

"Gwen was a constant friend to us both," continues Morgana, pretending to ignore her brother, "somehow always ending up in the middle of any arguments."

"Don't I know it," Gwen says, laughing.

"Gwen introduced me to Merlin, as well." Morgana nods at him. "Bringing this awkward, gangly boy to our room one night where we proceeded to get him enormously trolleyed."

"And we've all been besties ever since!" Merlin finishes.

"But this is about Arthur and Gwen."

"What he sees in her," Merlin says, gesturing with his glass, "blindingly obvious! Gwen and Arthur, it feels like they've always been together, and always will be. Past, present, future, there aren't two people in the world more perfect for one another." He catches Morgana's eyes, and she nods and smiles at him. "I've never even seen them argue, that's how perfect together they are."

Arthur and Gwen glance at each other; Gwen blushes and looks away, and Arthur clears his throat.

"Sorry, sorry," Merlin says, "going off script here. All I can say is, my best friends, I wish you all the happiness in the world. To Gwen and Arthur." He raises his glass to them.

"To Gwen and Arthur!" everyone chimes in, raising their glasses in a toast and drinking deep.

"Bee-tee-dubs," Merlin says, when the noise dies down, "we'll be giving this exact same speech at the wedding and we expect you all to act surprised." That doesn't get as many laughs as he'd hoped, but Merlin, thankfully, doesn't make his living as a comedian. Though the specimens under his microscope find him hilarious. And the other guys in the lab think he's a. Laugh. Riot.

He takes his seat. Gwen leans across Arthur to squeeze his arm. "So, Merlin, Arthur tells me you aren't bringing a date."

"Yes, I am." He looks at Arthur. "I told you, I'm bringing Lance."

"Lance is back?" Gwen's voice rises a couple octaves. "I… I thought he was abroad. We haven't heard from him in ages. When did he… I mean, no, that is… That—that's great. Merlin. I know you've missed him." She smiles at him and sits back in her chair.

"Missed him? He's been gone two years; you'll barely know him anymore," says Arthur. "Besides, Lance is straight, Merlin. He doesn't count as a _date_."

"Well, maybe I'll meet someone there."

"Who are you going to meet that you don't already know, or isn't related to one of us?" Arthur points between himself and Gwen. "A waiter?"

"Speaking of waiters," Morgana cuts in. "Merlin, the drop-dead gorgeous one over there is giving you the eye."

Merlin tries to subtly look over, but the bloke is openly staring right at him. And he winks. Merlin can feel himself blushing.

"Gorgeous my arse," Arthur says. "Merlin can do better than that. You should really let Gwen set you up with that whatsit nurse bloke she works with — Percival something or other." He leans close to whisper in Merlin's ear, "I may not be the best judge, but I've met him and he's quite fit. For a bloke. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, to be sure, but it's not like you'd be doing much talking anyway, right?"

"Oh yes." Merlin rolls his eyes, elbowing Arthur in the ribs. "It's all about sex, sex, sex. Just stereotype us to death, Arthur."

"Can I refill your glass, sir?" Gwaine has somehow sidled up right next to Merlin. He bends down close as he fills Merlin's glass, and slips a folded bit of paper under the napkin. "Just let me know if you need anything else." He winks again before walking away, giving Merlin a most excellent view.

Arthur looks at him pointedly when he finally tears his eyes away from the waiter's arse. Merlin plucks the paper up and tucks it into his pocket. "Right. So." He grins. "How fit are we talking? Muscles?"

* * *

He smiles as they pass, shakes hands, pats backs — all good here, all good. They congratulate him, wish him luck, joke about being tied down with a wink-wink and a nudge-nudge as they file past him into the boardroom. Malcolm Barry, head of Overseas Marketing, tips an imaginary hat in his direction, his bald, fat head gleaming with sweat under the florescent lights. Arthur smiles back automatically.

These are the men he'll be working with, sitting in boardrooms with, having coffee and _chatting_ with… making important, world-changing decisions with for the rest of his life. If he's learned anything as Uther Pendragon's son and successor, it's how to play this game. There's much to be done before the wedding.

Arthur nods briefly to the last of the men (only three women on the board, though Morgana's been trying to up that number for years) to disappear behind the heavy doors while pretending to check messages on his mobile. Uther will make them wait a few more minutes before he's ready to begin. ( _'You must remind them that they are nothing without you,'_ Uther had confided once.) Standing in the corridor, Arthur eyes his father's closed office door, fuzzy silhouettes on the frosted glass.

Morgana stands beside him, tapping her foot. "I can't believe he's got me playing tour guide. Again."

"Don't start," Arthur says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"I should be in this meeting," she continues. "I should have been on the board already. I'm a year older than you."

"He's given you your own department."

"Don't you dare imply that I haven't earned my pla—"

"I wasn't implying anything. You'll have your chance soon. You know how father is."

"Oh don't I just. Sexist pi—"

"Mr. Goodwyn!" Arthur says loudly to cut her off as the doors of his father's office swing open. He steps forward to extend his hand to the man walking out just ahead of Uther.

"Arthur, my boy, you've grown," Goodwyn says, jolly smile on his face. "You're a man now; call me Gregory." He crushes Arthur's hand in his and shakes it vigorously.

"Gregory, of course. And you remember my sister Morgana." He turns and gives her _a look_ ; she smiles brightly (you'd never be able to tell how fake it was if you didn't know…) and offers her hand.

"Ah, you've only grown more lovely, my dear," Goodwyn says, and kisses her knuckles like right out of a film. Morgana giggles, demurely, and Arthur only stops himself from rolling his eyes because he's always been quite fond of Mr. Goodwyn. "Uther, our children have become adults. Makes you feel old, doesn't it?"

"Speak for yourself, Gregory. I'm just as spry as I ever was," Uther says, patting his stomach, not nearly as flat as it once was.

"I recall all of your visits to the estate. You three children running round like holy terrors." Goodwyn turns, eyes searching the corridor. "Where has that girl got to—"

"Hiya, Arthur!" Elena pops up out of nowhere and punches him on the shoulder, knocking him back a step. "Sorry we didn't make the dinner. Dad and I wanted to be there, but there was a bit of an incident," she says, drawing back and showing him her bandaged arm.

"Oh my, what happened?" he asks, not that he's terribly surprised.

"Nothing too bad. Only six stitches, and you should have seen the other guy!" She laughs. "The 'other guy' was the fencing round the paddock, by the way, so no need to worry."

"Well, I wouldn't put it past you," he responds.

"Arthur, she hasn't beaten you up in years," Morgana says. She puts her hands on Elena's shoulders and does that air-kiss thing that girls do.

"No, you took care of that for her," Arthur says with a wry smile.

"You both must come out again sometime soon and ride with me. I believe Arthur demanded a rematch after our last race," Elena says with a wink. She hooks her arm through Morgana's roughly and pulls her close. "You could always keep up with me, though."

Morgana's pinched expression relaxes; she may play the part of a proper lady, but Arthur knows she's just as rough and tumble as Elena, or any boy or man for that matter. He'd never admit it, but the two of them together — both older and, when they were kids, bigger than he — had sometimes scared the ever-loving crap out of him.

"I'd be delighted to get out into the fresh country air again," Morgana says, and that may be the most genuine thing Arthur's heard her say yet. "How are the horses doing? How's old Passelande?"

"Wonderful! Dad has plans to expand soon, I'll tell you all about it." The Goodwyn Stud is one of the largest and, possibly, the most profitable and well-reputed in the country. "Arthur, you'll bring the new Mrs. Pendragon with you, yes? After the honeymoon, of course. I'm dying to meet the famous Guinevere."

"Of—" Arthur clears his throat. "Of course. Gwen would love it. Though, we'll be gone until July…" He pauses to think. "I'll have to check the dates and get back to you." His secretary had taken care of the details for him. He'd wanted to let Gwen decide where she wanted to go and what to do — he'd have taken her on a trip round the whole world if she'd wanted — but she seemed equally happy and excited about every suggestion he made. Arthur decided to surprise her and picked several destinations, a European tour in three weeks, but he hadn't the time to make all the arrangements and so he'd foisted it off onto Alice.

His father and Goodwyn reappear, laughing, and Arthur hadn't even noticed they'd left. "We really must start the meeting, Arthur," his father says, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Gregory, Morgana will show you around. She knows all the best spots in the city."

Elena looks pleased. Morgana's lips twitch into a quick smile for their fathers. They shake hands in parting and Arthur's father pulls open the large, heavy doors.

"Remember," Arthur says, backing into the boardroom. "Dinner. Tonight. Don't you let her spoil you, Elena." He waves farewell as the doors close them off from the rest of the world. Now, it's just business. It will be a busy few days.

* * *

Arthur glances up and down the street, double-checking the locks on his car. Merlin's flat is in a somewhat rough neighborhood, not too bad but enough to make Arthur paranoid about his car every time he leaves it there. He hurries up the walk to the door, presses the button and slips through as soon as he's buzzed in. Trips over the downstairs neighbor's kids' toys scattered about the bottom of the stairwell on his way up, cursing loudly.

Merlin opens the door for him before he even knocks, and waves him inside. He's on the phone. "Of course you're going to take the job," Merlin says. "It's a fantastic job. Well, okay, it's a decent job, but it's _here_."

Arthur wonders who he's talking to as he pushes a stack of books and magazines aside to sit on Merlin's overcrowded sofa. The stereo is on low, but all that he can make out sounds like static. Maybe Merlin's finally blown the speakers. He cringes inwardly as he spots Will sitting on the countertop in the kitchen, feet swinging, heels drumming on the cupboard door. Will sees him looking and waves, mouth stuffed full of… something half-chewed and disgusting.

"What?" Merlin twirls the cord of the hand-me-down-older-than-sin phone dragging behind him (Arthur knows he's going to trip, as usual, and resolves to just buy him a new phone) as he paces the floor. "Don't be ridiculous, Lance."

Oh. That's who it is. Arthur looks down at his knees and tries not to listen in anymore. Kiki hops over near Arthur's feet, nose twitching at his shoes. He bends down to ruffle the rabbit's soft, white fur, taking care to keep clear of its mouth. Little fucker bites. Merlin rescued her from a lab a few years ago. Arthur's sure it must have undergone some freakish experimentation. It's the eyes — the red eyes, he knows, are natural, but there's a definite… intelligence and malevolence lurking just beneath the surface. (Merlin's lab doesn't use animals — a good thing, too, otherwise Merlin would spend all his days crying.) Arthur still thinks he should have named it _Bunnicula_. The original name Merlin had picked out better represented the inherent evil in the animal, but he'd shortened it when it was pointed out that his new buddy was not, in fact, male. ( _'How was I supposed to know she was a girl when I named her? Anyway, she likes it just fine!'_ ) And thus the Great (and Terrible) Kilgharrah had become Kiki. Arthur had then gone out and bought Merlin a black top hat for his birthday that year. Stupid rabbit shat in it.

"I'm sure she was delighted to see you. She was probably just too busy to talk. Everyone's happy you're back. You have to come. Arthur," Merlin says, snapping his fingers to get Arthur's attention. "Where are we headed tonight?"

"We're just going to a pub—"

"Boring!" Will intones from the kitchen, though it comes out a little more muffled and… gurgly sounding.

"What pub?" Merlin asks. "Lance is going to meet us there. Yes, you are. Because I said so."

"It's The Black Horse over by... you know, where we always go." Arthur waves his hand carelessly, then snatches it back quickly to avoid sharp rabbit teeth. "Tell him it won't be too exciting. We're making an early night of it." He hadn't even wanted a stag night in the first place.

Merlin relays the message, with threats to go and drag him out if Lance doesn't show, then hangs up the phone and turns up the volume on the stereo system. He surveys the couch — every inch covered in junk or Arthur — then perches on the edge of the coffee table. "You're not wearing the outfit I picked out for you," he says, pointing at Arthur's plain black t-shirt and jeans.

He was hoping Merlin had forgotten that part. "We're just going to a simple pub. Nice, quiet, relaxing drink with the lads. No big deal. They won't be playing any of your—" Arthur waves his hand dismissively at the stereo system on the far wall of Merlin's lounge, "—horrible techno music."

Merlin stares at him, mouth open like an imbecile. "This isn't techno, you knob. It's industrial. They're not even close."

"Whatever." Arthur picks up his feet and plops them on the table next to Merlin's hip. "It sounds worse than that noise Will is always blasting."

"That's my demo there, douche-nozzle," Will says, passing behind the sofa and flicking Arthur on the back of the head. "We're going to be recording our first EP next weekend."

Arthur flattens his hair back down. "Don't tell me someone is paying actual money for this."

"Good money," Will sings out, disappearing into the bathroom. "Shitloads of money."

"You have to wear the costume, Arthur," Merlin whines. "It's a _themed_ party. Everyone else will be."

"I told you, I'm not dressing up in some poncey pirate outfit like a twat."

"Somewhere Morgana just made a mental note to slap you," Merlin says, picking Kiki up and cradling her in his lap. She never bites him.

"I'll do it for her!" Will remerges, shaking his hands dry.

"You dare touch me," Arthur warns, pointing a finger at him.

"Wait, I think there was an insult for me in there, as well," Merlin says, setting the rabbit back down on the floor to hop away.

Will dances forward on his toes as if to attack Arthur, then backs off with his hands raised. Arthur doesn't see it coming; Merlin whacks the back of his head. Hard. "Oi!"

"You asked for it," Merlin says, grinning.

"What's all this 'nice, quiet drink' bollocks?" Will cranks the volume on the stereo even louder and has to practically yell to be heard. "It's your stag night, mate. Aren't we supposed to get you totally off your face and leave you tied to a pole completely starkers?"

Arthur looks at Merlin. "Why is he invited?"

"Be nice," Merlin replies, and hops up to notch the volume back down. "I have neighbors, Will."

Will grabs Merlin from behind, hands rough on his hips and yanks him back, grinding his pelvis into Merlin's arse. "Your neighbors are used to the noise, mate!" Merlin is laughing, pliant as a rag doll in Will's hands; they're nearly dancing.

With the number of girls Will goes through it's not hard to believe Merlin when he swears Will is straight. It's just that they've known each other since birth. Will has always been Merlin's best mate. His first best mate. Will can say things to (and do things with) Merlin that Arthur wouldn't dare. There's a familiarity between them that Arthur can't touch, a closeness built on a lifetime together.

A bit like Gwen and Morgana, he supposes, who virtually have their own language sometimes. But he grew up with Gwen, too. She knows him in ways that no one else does. They're close. They'll be that close after, when everything's settled again.

Shoving Will away, Merlin stumbles to the ratty armchair and slumps down. "It's your last night as a single man, Arthur. You're supposed to go wild. Have fun with your mates. Party all night, be a little stupid."

"Actually," Arthur feels obligated to point out, "tomorrow night is my last night as a single man. Wedding's on Sunday."

"There you go then. You can get fully rat-arsed tonight and you've got a whole day to recover! It's settled. I've gotta change into my outfit." Merlin springs up and over to the door of his bedroom. "Hang on, I've got some stuff you can wear, dress you up a bit."

"I can't fit into your clothes, Merlin!"

"You'll fit, they're not mine!"

Arthur doesn't want to know.

* * *

The red silk scarf he'd wrapped around Arthur's head has slipped back, letting sweaty, blond tufts peek out the front. The white shirt, open to the navel over Arthur's black t-shirt and tucked into his jeans, billows around him as he flaps his arms in some imitation of dancing. The little gold ring clipped to his ear glints in the roving spotlights of the club. Merlin can't help but smile as he watches.

They'd started out at the pub, Arthur insisting he just wanted to sit and relax and hang out. He'd been quiet, surly, and extra annoyed with Will, which actually wasn't unusual at all. "How long will he be staying with you?" Arthur had asked, glaring daggers at Will, as loud and rowdy as ever.

Merlin had just shrugged and ordered a round of shots. As more people joined them — a few mutual friends from uni and some of Arthur's mates from football and the office — Arthur'd started to loosen up and actually have fun. He was more than tipsy by the time Lance finally showed up, for which Merlin was very grateful. They'd greeted each other like old friends who'd just lost touch and the whole party moved up the street, eventually landing them at _Avalon_.

They ran into the girls out on their own piss-up. They'd giggled at all the pirate outfits, but they really didn't have room to judge, what with their feather boas and tutus. Merlin had thought the hen night would be a little more… tame. But Morgana was taking them to _X Caliber_ to see some knights in shining g-strings engage in a little swordplay. Arthur kissed Gwen before they parted, drunk and sloppy, knocking her tiara askew, making her promise it's all looking and no touching.

For a moment, Merlin almost wishes he'd gone with them. But he'd promised Gwen he'd look after Arthur, and so here he sits, sipping his drink to keep up his nice buzz without getting himself completely pissed. He's actually being the responsible one. It's kind of… a lot more boring than he'd been hoping for tonight. Though, that might just be the venue. He's turned down more girls in this one night than possibly the entirety of the whole rest of his life.

Arthur's got at least three groupies — petite, blonde satellites orbiting him as he gyrates across the dance floor. He doesn't appear to be paying them any attention, though. A good thing, because Gwen is Merlin's friend, too, and he'd feel bad about not telling her. Which he probably wouldn't.

He lost track of Will a while ago, but Merlin knows he'll turn up. He always does, and it's not like he'll be hard to spot with his great big captain's hat, fake black beard, and plastic hook-hand. Will never does anything by halves.

Lance is currently propping up the bar, looking about as out of place as Merlin feels. They've already chatted and caught up and Merlin got the impression that Lance just wasn't feeling up to life tonight. Always had itchy feet, that one. Merlin hopes he sticks around this time. Everything was all a bit more simple when they were at uni. All of them together, always.

He pivots on his stool, turning away from the lights, and hunches over the bar. It's never going to be like that again.

"Buy you a drink?" a very male voice whispers in his ear, warm breath ruffling his hair and sending shivers all down his body.

Merlin startles, glass slipping from his fingers to drop that extra inch and land on the bar with a dull thud. He pulls back minutely, turns his face to look and— "It's you." Merlin can't quite place him, but he knows the man is familiar.

The guy's mouth slides into a slow smile. "You remember me then?"

"I…" Merlin squints, brings his face a little closer in the dimness. "The waiter." It comes to him, and he says, slowly, "Gwaine, wasn't it?"

"I had hoped you'd call," Gwaine says, leaning against the bar even closer than before.

"Uh, yeah, I—" Merlin bites his lower lip, can feel himself blushing and hopes the lights are low enough to hide it. He'd kept the scrap of paper with the hot waiter's number scrawled on it. It's still in his wallet right now.

"That's all right. I like the shy ones. Can I get your name at least?"

"Um, it's… I'm Merlin."

"Merlin. Hello." Gwaine flags the barman down, orders himself a drink and then points to Merlin's glass. "And another..?"

"Oh, no. I mean, thanks, but I'm not really drinking tonight. Keeping an eye on my mates," he says, nodding over his shoulder where he hopes Arthur is still dancing.

"Good man." Gwaine downs his drink in several long gulps; Merlin stares at his throat as he swallows. He slams the glass back down on the bar and wipes his mouth. "No drinking then. Do you dance?"

"What? Here?" Merlin laughs nervously, looking around them. Not that he thinks anyone would care or even notice, but this is a very straight club. Arthur's been to gay bars with him before, but some of his other friends… especially the blokes from the office, with them that just wouldn't fly.

"Why not?" Gwaine takes a step and holds his hand out for Merlin.

"I…" He laughs and takes Gwaine's hand, abandoning his drink on the bar. "Yeah, okay." Gwaine leads him out into the pulsating mass of bodies. Merlin glances over his shoulder and catches Arthur's eye; he can't help but gesture toward Gwaine and grin excitedly. Arthur looks confused for a second, then returns his smile with a thumbs up.

"So, this is an interesting look," Gwaine says close in Merlin's ear. He tugs on the scarf around Merlin's neck and pokes his finger into one of the slashes of his shirt.

"Stag night." He leans into Gwaine's body to be heard. "Pirate theme."

"Love pirates." Gwaine's hands are warm, firm, and large on Merlin's hip and the small of his back. Merlin's never been the most coordinated person ever, but Gwaine moves like the music is part of him, liquid, flowing through his body and into Merlin's. His hair gleams under the lights, bouncing as if in rhythm with the beat, and Merlin's hand slides up of its own accord to slip his fingers through silky softness. Gwaine laughs, pushes his head into Merlin's hand and brings their faces closer. He nudges Merlin's jaw with his nose, presses his lips to the corner of Merlin's mouth and then they're kissing.

Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep inside him; a tightness that's been in his stomach and chest all night finally breaks and Merlin feels light for the first time, weightless. He dives in to kiss Gwaine again, some more, lots more. It's been so long since he's gone out, danced, kissed, felt this heat in his belly burning up through him. He pushes his hips into Gwaine and gets an answering push back. He's blushing, he knows it, can feel his face blazing. But he keeps dancing, doesn't shy away from Gwaine's eyes, doesn't stumble when Gwaine pushes one leg between Merlin's and hauls him up, bodies flush. Kisses him again on the mouth, jaw, neck. That juncture between shoulder and chest, made visible by Gwaine's gaping shirt collar, the stretch of skin taut over muscle and tendons that fascinates Merlin so.

It's claustrophobic amidst the hot crush of people all around them; Merlin can feel the sweat on his back clinging to his shirt fabric beneath Gwaine's hand. All of a sudden he can't get enough air into his lungs, feeling lightheaded. Gwaine drags him through the crowd until they reach the far wall of the club, outside the throng. Gwaine palms Merlin's cheek, both sweaty, and asks, "You need some water?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm good. Just hot."

"I'll say." Gwaine moves in and kisses him again, softer this time. "Can we… go somewhere?" he says against Merlin's mouth and he wants to, good god he wants to, but… He must hesitate for too long, because Gwaine draws back to look him in the eye, questioning, and all Merlin can do is nod.

"Come on." Gwaine slips his hand around Merlin's and tugs him along.

"I'm supposed to be the responsible one tonight," he murmurs to himself, but follows, tripping along after Gwaine up a flight of metal stairs to the second level and then down a short corridor to the men's room. "Seriously?" Merlin laughs. He hasn't done it in a loo stall in years. Gwaine pushes him inside and locks the door behind them. Gwaine's hands slide up beneath Merlin's shirt and he jumps. It _tickles_. "I just… Sorry, I don't usually get this far. Somehow I always manage to screw it up," he says, feeling like a right plonker for even mentioning it.

Gwaine pauses, looks at him seriously. "We don't—"

"No, no! I mean—" Merlin huffs embarrassed laughter and looks away, face heating up.

"You're so cute." Gwaine tips his face back and kisses him again. Then sinks to his knees. "Okay?"

"Oh god yes." He lets his head fall back and bang against the wall, feels the quick jerk at his zipper, slow slide, and then cool air. Gwaine's hands are hot, and his mouth is hotter. Merlin can't look; if he looks, he's done. His toes curl, boots squeaking on the tiled floor, and his hips start rocking.

Gwaine releases him suddenly, with a loud slurp. Merlin looks down in time to see the string of spit and pre-come from Gwaine's lips to the head of his cock before Gwaine hooks his fingers in the waist of Merlin's pants and drags them down. He licks the head of Merlin's cock once, twice, then takes it back into his mouth. Merlin's eyes roll up, eyelids fluttering, hips stuttering again, and then he feels Gwaine's hand, warm and huge, fisting him, and Gwaine's mouth along the underside of his cock and balls. And Merlin has to watch that. Gwaine stares up into his eyes and sucks two fingers into his mouth, rubs them over the leaking head of Merlin's cock, collecting it all, and tickles his way back, nudging at his hole. Gasping, Merlin spreads his legs wider, as wide as they'll go with his pants caught around his knees. He nods when Gwaine presses in, gasps. Merlin's hands hover over Gwaine's head, and finally, _finally_ he buries his fingers in all that lovely, soft hair.

He's going to have some awesome stubble burn tomorrow.

* * *

It's _hot._ Tugging the scarf off his head — ow! It's knotted around a clump of hair and yanks some out when he pulls — Arthur uses it to wipe his sweaty face. The _thump-thump-thump_ of the bass pounds in his head, chest and groin, but his body's lost the rhythm. He saunters over to the bar, getting a shout and a few glares from people that totally ran into him. He spots Lance and goes to lean next to him. The bar shifts beneath him and then Lance has a hand under Arthur's arm, holding him up.

"Are you all right, Arthur?"

"Great! S'just hot in here! Need a drink," he calls out trying to wave the barman over, dislodging Lance's hand and leaning over the bar. He's absolutely disgusted when he gets no response; the barman clearly too preoccupied with hitting on poor drunk girls. Loser.

"How 'bout some water, mate?" Lance says. "Cool you off."

"Fine. Whatever. If you can even get anyone to **serve you** ," he shouts that last bit, scowling down the bar.

"Here we are," Lance says, passing him a tall, cold glass from a girl behind the bar who just came out of nowhere.

"Oh, right. Cheers." Arthur brings the glass to his lips, but he's barely felt the water before he sets it back down. "You know, I wasn't thrilled with Merlin bringing you to the wedding. You know, because of that _thing_." He nods at Lance, eyes him seriously. "You know."

"I…" Lance looks scared, but that's not what Arthur wants. He's just trying to say that it's okay now.

"I'm just saying it's okay now. And you know," he points at Lance, finger poking him in the chest, "I think you'd actually be good for Merlin. You two were always… talkin' about stuff. All _interested_ in… stuff." He grabs the glass again, slides it a little too fast across the slick surface of the bar, sloshing water over his hand. He looks for something to wipe it on, licks it instead. "And I'm going to be _married_ ," he continues, making sure he's got Lance's attention. "Someone will have to look after Merlin." He points at Lance again, just to make sure he gets it.

"I'm sure Merlin is capable of looking after himself," Lance says, and _really_ he must be joking.

Arthur snorts his amusement. And some water up his nose. "Merlin can't even keep his shoelaces tied. He's going to be completely lost without me. And Gwen. She's aces at taking care of people. She makes everyone better, I love her, she's lovely…" He trails off, gulps some water, feels it, cool, at the back of his throat. He nearly drains the glass and fumbles it back down onto the bar. His shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably; he plucks at the fabric to pull it away from his skin. "Aren't you hot?" Pulling the tails of the white shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, and incidentally tugging his t-shirt half-way up his stomach, Arthur elbows some bloke passing by. 

The guy growls at him, "Oi, buddy, this isn't that kind of place," and his face is all big and scrunched up that Arthur almost laughs.

He does laugh. The guy scowls.

"You think it's funny?"

"I think your face is funny. You've got a massive head, mate," Arthur says, holding his hands up at the sides of his own head to illustrate.

"I've got a massive fist that I'm about to ram down your throat."

Arthur bursts out laughing, spittle flying out of his mouth. The guy's face turns even redder, but all Arthur can think of are the fisting jokes that Merlin would undoubtedly make. "Oh my god," he gasps, no breath to spare. "Where is he? He'd be all over that!"

Lance tries to step between them, hands up in a placating manner, and says something to the guy in a low voice, but the bloke shoulders past Lance and shoves Arthur with one meaty hand.

He falls back against the bar, catching his ribs on the sharp corner.

"Oi! Fuck is wrong with you?" someone shouts beside him. A blur of black and red whizzes past and of course it's Will who throws the first punch. He catches the guy's face with his stupid plastic hook, and then there's blood speckling the front of his shirt. Lance is still trying to fight his way between them, ever the peacekeeper.

Arthur's bent over, holding his aching sides. He feels a bit dizzy and—Oh, fuck. He straightens up, hoping gravity will force that back down because there's nothing he hates more than vomiting in public.

There's a large presence beside him, and a few of his mates appear before him, shouting.

"Where—" he tries, head spinning.

Will flails, but his arms are held behind his back by a large man wearing a black t-shirt bearing the club's name. The other bloke's being held back by another bouncer. Lance is at Arthur's elbow again, saying, "We've got to go, _now_."

"Wait," he says, but the large presence at his side resolves itself into a very un-impressed looking man and starts trying to usher them toward the door. "I can't go yet. Where's my Merlin? Merlin!" he shouts.

"I'm here." And there he is, running up, out of breath, to Arthur's side.

Arthur pushes himself off the bar, out of Lance's hand and the bouncer's reach, to throw his arm around Merlin's neck. He turns back to explain, pointing his finger at Merlin's face. "He's my best Merlin."

"I'm the best man," Merlin repeats, needlessly because that's what he _just said_. "We're going. Come on, Arthur."

"Is everything all right?" says a bloke, suddenly at Merlin's side, with utterly ridiculous hair.

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine," Merlin tells him. He's got his arms around Arthur, holding him up, but he's looking at that other guy. Smiling. Arthur leans more heavily against Merlin, head on his shoulder. He smells like sweat and some type of new cologne. It's not aftershave because, please, like Merlin ever shaves. He never wears cologne, though, either.

Somehow they're outside and the night air is cold against Arthur's sweaty skin. Merlin props him against the rough brick wall of the club and tells him to stay.

"I'm perfectly capable, Merlin," Arthur replies, shoving his shoulder, fingers tangling briefly in Merlin's shirt.

"What happened?" Merlin rushes over to Will, who's sprawled out on the ground in the middle of what remains of their group.

Arthur shrugs. "Guy didn't like my pirate outfit." The wall at his back moves and he stumbles into Gavin from the fourth floor. He doesn't know what Gavin does at the office, exactly, but they'd gone to school together and they chat every now and then. Gavin clutches Arthur's arm and— "Really, mate, think you've had a bit much, yeah?" Arthur says, because the guy's weaving about all over the place.

"I'm good!" Will jumps to his feet, wielding his stupid, bloody hook. "My hat! Where's my fucking hat?!" Merlin plonks it on his head. "Right. On we go, mates! Yo ho ho! And a barrel of rum!"

"It's a bottle," Merlin says, following him. And that guy with the hair is still there at Merlin's side.

"Only for you lightweights." Will points at Merlin and, absurdly, Arthur, who scoffs, because he could—

"Drink you under the fucking table, man. Right?" Arthur throws his arm across Merlin's shoulders, tugging him in close. "What's that song, Merlin? That one you sang nonstop for about a week. _Yo ho, bastards!_ " he shouts at the top of his lungs, voice echoing off the buildings all down the road.

"It's 'Yo ho, Sebastian', and the song is called _Gay Pirates_." Merlin ducks his head out of Arthur's grasp, but doesn't move away.

"Yeah! That one!"

"You want to sing the gay pirates song?"

"It's a _pirate_ song, Merlin," Arthur says, because _obviously_ , otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. "You have to teach us the words."

"I only know the chorus, that's why it was stuck in my head for two weeks."

Arthur starts to sing out loud, "Yo ho, ya' bastards!" and Merlin tries to correct him again. Pretty soon they've got the chorus down.

"Should've known that was Arthur." Morgana appears at his side, face flushed and hair trailing in the wind, group of giggling girls surrounding her. "We thought someone was being murdered over here with all that wailing."

"You wish you had my lovely singing voice."

"Yes, if only we could all be as tone deaf."

"Wait a minute!" Arthur stops walking, pulling Merlin up short. He grabs Morgana by the hand and leads her over to that bloke with the hair. "You two. Look at them, Merlin." He cups Morgana's face in one hand, and Hair's in the other, pushing their faces together cheek to cheek. "They're like the perfect couple out of a magazine. You should do advertisements for hair products, the both of you. And have lovely hair children."

"Okay, Arthur." Morgana backs away, untangling his hand from her hair. "How much have you had? Merlin, I thought you'd be watching him."

Merlin shrugs. "Left him alone for one minute."

"Mm-hmm." She eyes Merlin, then Hair. "Gwen's going to have your balls if he gets ill."

"I'm fine," Arthur says. "I… Whe—" He looks around. They've made it a considerable distance from the club and down the road.

 _"—ust left!"_ rings out and Arthur knows that voice.

"Guinevere?" He starts drifting toward the end of the street.

"I _had_ to go. You know that!"

Arthur rounds the corner. "Lance! You found my beautiful bride for me." Grinning, Arthur throws one arm around Lance and squeezes. Then he bends to kiss Gwen on the cheek. "There you are," he breathes out, steadying himself.

"Arthur! Oh, you're drunk," Gwen says, biting her lip and smiling up at him.

"And you," he announces, holding both of her hands in his, "are perfect. And beautiful. And… just… right." He leans down, resting his head on her shoulder, and sees the others have followed him. "She's going to make everything better."

"Is he okay?" Hair asks, leaning close to Merlin.

"Arthur's always been a very happy drunk."

"I fucking love drunk Arthur!" Will shouts from just a few doors down, stopped in front of a pub, different from the one they'd started in. He points, commanding, "Everyone in here!" before marching through the doors.

"All right." Morgana pushes her way between them, taking Gwen by the arm. "Boys and girls separate. Sexist or not, traditions are traditions. Come along, ladies! We have lots more to do." She leads them away, and Gwen glances back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming, seeming to flicker in the light.

Smiling for her, Arthur lifts his hand in a little wave, notices the person standing beside him and grins at Lance. "There goes my girl. Luckiest bloke in the world."

"Yes," Lance agrees.

"Where were we?" Arthur yells, grabbing Merlin by the arm and dragging him into the pub; the others follow along. After getting everyone a round, Arthur manages to coerce most of them into singing the pirate song in a make-shift karaoke. The other patrons tolerate them for a while before the publican tosses them out. Arthur doesn't stop laughing for _hours_.

It's the best last night of his life ever. Old life. Last night of his old life. He's got a new life coming, and it's going to be perfect.

* * *

Yawning widely, Merlin swivels his chair back and forth and rubs at his tired eyes. Technically, he hadn't needed to come into work today, but he'd wanted to check up on a few things. Then of course he got suckered into helping the others on a few of their projects. He could finish up a few other things today while he's out, but he definitely wants to get a good night's sleep, for tomorrow he'll be up bright and early. Big day, and all that. He hopes Arthur is all right, sleeping off last night's hangover. Merlin had dropped Arthur at his flat sometime around five this morning, left him sprawled across his massive king sized bed with a glass of water on the bedside table and the cheap plastic bathroom bin nearby. Just in case.

Merlin's the only one left in the lab; people rarely come in on Saturdays. Gaius ducked out earlier; apparently he had _plans_. Merlin wonders when he's going to get to finally meet Gaius's secret lady friend. He thinks of Gwaine, biting his lip on a smile, of last night, of his hands and mouth and eyes and his whispered, _'I'd still like you to call me,'_ hot on the back of his neck as he'd pushed into Merlin from behind.

He grabs his light jacket from the hook in the office and makes sure all the lights are off before locking up. When he gets out onto the street and checks his phone, he finds he has nine missed calls and three voicemails. The first is from Arthur, slurring that he hopes Merlin didn't forget to go to the florist to pick up the boutonnières and corsages for them and the bridesmaids, and that _'they have to go in the **freezer** , Merlin.'_ And of course, Merlin remembered that. He… was just about to do that, actually. On his way from picking up his tux.

The second message is from Gwen. She sounds a little odd, asking Merlin if he isn't busy, maybe he could stop by her place for a bit. He figures she's probably stressing about flowers, too. Or the cake. He's grateful the cake was _not_ his responsibility. The third message is Gwen again, and she sounds out of breath, words coming fast and short, asking him to _'please, please come over quickly, Merlin. I need… just please come over.'_

* * *

"Gwen?" Merlin calls, letting himself into her flat with the key he's had for the past four years. If he could afford the rent on his own, he'd totally ask Gwen to sublet the place to him when she moves her stuff into Arthur's. It's quite a step up from his current flat. "Gwen, are you all right? You sounded strange on the phone. Gwen?"

He finds her sitting on the floor with her back against the bed, knees drawn up to her chin and arms wrapped tight around them.

"It's a beautiful dress, isn't it?" she says, and Merlin follows her gaze to the long, white dress hanging on the closet door.

"Is it bad luck for the best man to see the dress before the wedding, or is that just the groom? I forget the rules." He tries a laugh, but it falls a bit flat, dropping into the quiet room.

"I looked amazing in that dress," Gwen continues as if he hadn't spoken. "It was the right fit. The right shade of not-quite-white. The right length. The right price! It was the absolute most perfect dress on the planet. Everything was perfect." Gwen lowers her head to rest her chin on her knee. "I suppose I'll donate it to a charity shop."

"Is… is that part of the tradition, too? After the wedding?" Merlin asks, confused as always but also a little wary. He startles when Gwen bursts into tears, burying her face in her arms. "Gwen! What—I don't—What is it?" Merlin steps lightly over to her and kneels by her side, glancing sideways at the dress as if it might attack at any moment.

"It all should have been perfect," she sobs, and Merlin only guesses that's what she said, words muffled through her hands and tears and hitching breath. "And I can't… I just _can't_ , and I love him, I really do. He's… he's _everything_ and he's my best friend and I don't know why that I—Oh my god, I'm awful. I'm awful, Merlin, and it'll kill him, but I can't do it. I can't."

He places his hand gently on her shoulder, then slides his arm around her and pulls her into his side. She cries all over his shirt. It's okay, though, he borrowed this shirt from Arthur.

…Oh, god. Arthur.

"Gwen, I… Should I call Morgana?"

"No! Oh god no! Oh my… no." She wipes her face with the back of her hand, and tips her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "She'll hate me for this," Gwen says quietly. "I mean, I know people don't see it, but Morgana would _kill_ anyone who hurt Arthur." She stares vacantly for a while, then whispers, "She'll never forgive me for this."

"Of course she will! She's your best friend. She'll understand." 

"No. She won't. How could she? I don't even understand."

And, well, Merlin doesn’t quite understand, either. He's not even sure this is actually happening. "Gwen, can… can you tell me _why_?"

"It's just… just a feeling. I don't know how to explain. It's just—" Her face crumples and Merlin thinks she's going to cry some more, but she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out steadily. "I've been feeling it for weeks now. Maybe even months. I just… I thought it was normal, pre-wedding jitters. But it's not. I'm not nervous. Or anxious. Or excited. I should be excited about starting a life with the person I love, right?"

"Gwen," Merlin shrugs, half-apology, "I'm not really the best judge of these things. You know my relationships are… generally pretty terrible and short-lived. Oh hey! Lance is in town! I can call him; he _always_ knows the right thing… to… say—What?"

Gwen drops her face to her knees and starts crying again.

"Oh god. Okay." Merlin wraps his arm more tightly around her shoulders until she is almost lying in his lap. He doesn't know what to do. He sucks at this kind of thing. "Can I at least call Will?"

Gwen looks up at him then, forehead scrunched, blinking rapidly, eyelashes glossy and stuck together. "How is he going to make things better?"

"Uh…" Merlin thinks, then tries a grin. "He'll bring booze."

She sniffs. "Okay."

* * *

**July**

Life goes on as it always does, even when it feels as though it shouldn’t. Arthur returns to work the morning after what would have been his wedding day. Unlike any other Monday, he does not smile at the receptionist as he passes the front desk, does not stop to chat with Gavin or Tristan, and does not acknowledge Alice with more than a brief nod. He shuts himself in his office and stays there until well past sundown when the rest of the building is empty.

Gwen had been crying; he could see it right away when he opened the door that Saturday afternoon. He'd still been a bit hung over, but relaxed, calm.

He'd found he really didn't have much to say when she'd asked, _'Why are we even doing this, Arthur?'_

The conversation with his father is concise, brutal and, frankly, about what Arthur had expected. Uther doesn't even glance up from his desk, reading and signing documents, when he says, "That girl's family was always beneath you, Arthur. It's just a shame you let it go on so long. You'll have lost all of your deposits, but I suppose some action can be taken for recompense."

"No," he replies immediately. Arthur can only imagine what sort of _action_ his father would take, and he won't do that to Gwen. Not even after… this. "No, these were my affairs. I will be taking care of it."

His father does look up then, makes eye contact for the longest second of Arthur's life, and nods once. And in that one tiny gesture lays a fair amount of pride and, possibly, the most approval Arthur's received in… years.

As he's reaching for the door, his father says, "The Goodwyns will be in town a few more days yet. We'll all have dinner this week."

Arthur pauses, hand on the door knob, says over his shoulder, "Of course," and leaves.

Since, quite possibly, the moment he was born, Uther has been pushing him at Elena. Their fathers, friends since boyhood, had probably been planning the marriage of the two households — like out of some medieval fairy tale — for years before they'd even had children. It would have made a simple and quite beneficial union, Arthur's sure.

She's beautiful and smart and can certainly give him a run for his money, so to speak. They always get on and he always enjoys spending time with her whenever their families get together. He's just never been able to picture Elena as the wife he'd always imagined for himself, or the mother of the children he'd always assumed he'd have.

Now that he's thinking about it, he can't quite conjure up that picture of his future anymore. The one where he takes over after his father retires, yet somehow doesn't allow work to consume his life; attends every single one of his children's recitals or football games; is home with them for every Christmas and birthday and Easter and bank holiday and weekend. It was what he'd always wanted.

He goes to the office every morning, and talks to no one. He does not wish to see the pity in their eyes. Or possibly the smug satisfaction: _No, Arthur Pendragon can't do everything._ Or anything. Alice is the only one he allows entrance, but he takes the phone from her and orders her away when she tries to take care of things for him. There are reservations to cancel, and fees to pay, items to be returned. Arthur does it all within the week.

He stares at the rings nestled together in their little crimson box on a white satin pillow, already paid for, and wonders what on Earth he's meant to do now.

Besides hide in his office, that is.

* * *

Gwen's gone to stay with her father and gran, leaving Merlin to look after her flat — water the plants, pick up the post, that sort of thing. Merlin feels a little guilty about spending lots of time there, but Will's pretty much taken over his place and… Merlin loves the guy, he really does, but a man can only take so much, and he's never wanted to see half-naked women prancing about his flat like the ones that seem to perpetually trail after Will.

It's only temporary. After they finish recording, Will and his bandmates are actually going on a mini tour. Then Merlin will have his flat back. His sad, pathetic, single bedroom flat with the mildew above the bathroom sink and, possibly, something living in the walls. It wouldn't be so bad if he could get Lance to come out once in a while. Or ever. But he keeps saying he's too busy, and barely takes Merlin's calls these days.

He hasn't seen Arthur since… well, since. He's tried, but Arthur won't answer the door. Of course Merlin could just use his key, but really, what's he going to say to the guy anyway? None of this was supposed to happen! Merlin wishes again, for the millionth time, that they could all just be back at uni. Sure, Arthur was still a bit of an arse then, but that's never really going away, is it? And maybe Gwen had been far too shy for her own good; and Morgana had… well, gone a bit mad for a while there; and Merlin had been homesick, missing his mum and Will every day for the first two years, and coming out hadn't been the easiest thing ever, and his first boyfriend had nearly killed him, but… 

He guesses just looking back at it now, it seems a lot better than it actually was. And they'd all been together, no matter what sort of problems they were having.

He's busy at the lab every day; Gaius is trying to secure funding for a new project, which means that many of their current projects need to be wrapped up quickly. It doesn't help that the new interns all flock around him, fluttering with nerves, getting in the way. Although if he isn't around to supervise, they tend to start goofing off and breaking things.

That had been one of the first lectures Merlin had to give. No throwing specimen jars in the lab. No throwing anything in the lab, really. (It amazed him how much like Gaius he had sounded, harkening back to his first days here when Merlin pretty much just concluded that he shouldn't throw anything ever, full stop.)

So he barely has time to talk to Arthur, not that Arthur will actually talk to him.

Merlin texts him: `When r u going 2 call me?`

And Arthur replies: **Tomorrow**

` Thats what u said yesterday` **It might be true this time Probably not, though**


Of course, he doesn't let Arthur off that easily.

"Look. Okay, I know you won't actually _talk about things_ and, hey, that's fine. But I have problems, too, you know," he leaves on Arthur's voicemail. "You could pretend to care. Even just a little bit. God, not everything is about you, Arthur!"

* * *

Arthur can't stop himself from grinning, rolling his eyes. He still doesn't feel like talking, so he texts back instead: **I know what you're doing, Merlin.**

A few minutes later, he receives: `And its working isnt it?`

**No. What problems could you possibly have? What have the lab rats done now?** ` We dont experiment on rats Arthur!` **YOU are the lab rats, idiot. You and your lackeys** ` Im going to call. Please answer?`


He picks up mid-ring, "What's wrong?"

 _"I think Lance is avoiding me,"_ Merlin says, and Arthur can hear clinking noises in the background. _"And I don't understand why. I mean, do you think… I thought he was happy to see me. He sounded it when he first called."_

"He's probably just busy, Merlin. He's… he's started his new job, hasn't he?" Arthur glances at his closed office door, then back down to his desk where he's doodling idly on a manila envelope. The hospital is fairly large; Lance may not even be working the same areas as Gwen. Let alone the same shift. He doesn't even know if she's gone back to work yet or not.

_"Um, yeah. But he sounds weird whenever I call. And he always begs off when I ask him to come over—"_

"Can't blame him for that, Merlin. No one wants to go to your place while Will is there."

 _"I'm serious, Arthur! What if…_ " Merlin pauses and his breath sounds shaky. _"What if he just doesn't want to be my friend anymore?"_

"Then he's an idiot." Arthur flicks his pen across the desk; he's messed up the shading anyway. "Look, it's not like you were that close to begin with."

_"Of course we were! He was my friend before you were."_

"He was not." Arthur clears his throat. "Whatever. He's been gone for years, Merlin. Sometimes people just drift apart."

_"You don't just stop being someone's friend, Arthur. Not without, like, a reason. And he's here now! Can't we just… can't it just go back to the way it was?"_

Arthur breathes in slowly, deeply, leaning back in his chair. "No," he says, quietly. "It can't."

* * *

The dark cherry wood tabletop is pristine. Arthur presses his finger to it, presses down hard, and leaves a greasy smudge of a fingerprint. 

"Mr. Pendragon?

He does it again with his whole hand and watches, mesmerized, how the smudges slowly fade.

"Mr. Pendragon? Arthur?"

Slowly, Arthur looks up at Leon. The whole room is watching him. This is his first board meeting since… would have been first thing after he got back from his honeymoon. His father is not present.

Otherwise Arthur never would have been able to do this: he pushes his chair back and stands, gathering his briefcase and stack of papers. He smiles at Leon. "I think you've got this." Shakes his hand. Nods to the room. "Good day, gentlemen." And walks out. He makes a pit stop at his office to pick up a few things and tells Alice to go home early. "Take tomorrow off, as well. I think I might." She looks surprised, but doesn't argue.

The air outside is warm and damp; Arthur takes a deep breath and peels his jacket off as he walks from the building, feeling lighter with each step. As soon as he climbs into his car, he calls Merlin. "Hey, I'm cutting out early — you want to go grab a bite with me?"

"I'm watching the lab," Merlin says, sounding regretful, or maybe just tired. "Guess what? Gaius has a secret girlfriend! I've caught him sneaking out early a few times in the past month."

"Oh…" Arthur doesn't know what to say to that, settles on, "Well good for him. So, I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Promise?"

" _Yes._ " After he hangs up, he debates where to go — it's been so long since he's been out and about on a weekday during _daylight_! Mid-afternoon so he's missed the lunch rush, but it might be a bit early for the pub… _Says who?_ Arthur asks himself. 

With a grin stealing over his face, Arthur peels out of his parking spot and onto the road. Pub it is.

* * *

He's not sure how he ended up here. He's doubly unsure of how long he's actually _been_ here. The ever-present _untsa-untsa_ and the underlying bass vibrating through the bones of his legs all the way up to his teeth make it a little hard to think. Arthur orders himself another drink simply by waving at a passing bartender and pointing to his glass.

The girls that dragged him into this club have melted into the dancing swarm and become indistinguishable from the others, like a buzzing hive of bees. He idly wonders if he could spot the Queen.

Arthur's never been much of a dancer. He's a repressed, British, white male — it's expected. Nevertheless, he finds himself out on the dance floor, throwing his stupid body around like it knows what it's doing. One of the girls from earlier — Violet, or Viola, or something, blonde anyway — is right there with him, hair long and sweaty and whipping round with each toss of her head, arms hanging off his neck like she owns it.

Some bloke sidles up beside them, brunette in his arms and another grinding into his back. Vi-whatever-Blondie reaches past and snakes her arm around the bloke, tugging him closer. For a moment, they're five people dancing perfectly in synch and Arthur's not sure who's touching him anymore. He catches the bloke's eye and… he looks oddly familiar, but Arthur can't place him. Scoffs at his utterly ridiculous hair, though.

Suddenly one of the brunettes is in Arthur's arms, face pressed to the side of his neck. Her lips are warm and a little sticky, leaving damp trails along his jaw. His hands slide down to her arse and she grinds her pelvis into him, up and down in long motions against his thigh. He counters her movements and he's damned sure this isn't the first time she's felt a stiffie pressed against her on a dance floor. When her mouth closes over his, she tastes smoky, laced with alcohol and something fruity, mango or kiwi. Her dark hair is cut short into some sort of asymmetrical bob — fashionable, Arthur's sure — and tickles his face and neck.

She pulls him through a door and slams him back up against it, her hands sliding beneath his shirt and over his chest, then down, down rubbing him through his trousers. Arthur can't help but buck up into her hands, mouthing the soft, damp skin of her neck and bare shoulders. She's practically spilling out of her top as it is, so it's only a matter of a simple tug to pull the boob tube down, revealing small, round breasts with rosy, peaked nipples.

She produces a condom, rips it open with her teeth, unzipping him and pushing his pants down with the other hand. She says something that he can't hear over the pumping music, not muffled at all in this room that he now realizes is just another part of the club, empty on a weeknight. He helps her roll it over his cock, pumps his fist a couple of times. She hikes her skirt up (no knickers) and turns her back to him, leaning forward with one arm on the wall and the other reaching for him, urging him, "Come on, _come on._ "

He fingers her first, and she's so wet already, before guiding himself in. She pushes back with a grunt and he's going, thrusting hard. Slides his hands over clothing bunched around her middle, up to cup both breasts, and clamps his mouth onto her neck.

"Yeah, baby, give it to me." He ignores her words, focusing on the glide of her, the tightening around his cock, his blood pumping and the slapping sound of flesh on flesh. Buries his nose in her hair, catches her ear between his teeth, fucks her harder, faster, drowning everything else out.

* * *

When he reaches his flat, he finds he has too many missed calls and several voice messages. He deletes them without a thought.

He stops abruptly on the way to his bedroom and stares at Gwen's things gathered up in one corner near the door. The very small amount of things that she'd kept at his place. _His_ place.

God it's pathetic that he didn't see it before.

* * *

**August**

Arthur's totally expecting the loud banging at his door. Doesn't mean he wants to get up to answer it.

"Open up!" Merlin calls, voice muffled. "I brought food!"

"I'm not hungry!" Arthur yells back, but he goes to the door anyway.

"I also brought _Die Hard_. All four of them."

Arthur unlocks the door and cracks it open to peer at a sliver of Merlin's face. He holds up the DVDs and bag of take-away, grinning like an idiot. "Fine," Arthur says, swinging the door open. "You can come in."

Merlin walks right past him and lays everything out on the coffee table. He turns and tosses something at Arthur. "Will sent you a present."

Thanks to his quick reflexes, he catches it before it hits him in the face. It's a DVD case. He turns it over to see the cover— "Oh my god."

"He said it was his favorite. Sexy, to cheer you up. Or keep you company. Or something."

Arthur chucks the DVD at the sofa, and tries to scrub the image of the big-breasted girls out of his brain. "I don't even want to try to understand what Will finds sexy."

Merlin shrugs. "Don't look at me; it's girly porn. Anyway, Will's got a gig—"

"I'm not going." Arthur grabs two beers out of the fridge, along with a couple of forks from the cutlery drawer, and brings them back to the lounge.

"A gig up in Scotland tomorrow night," Merlin continues, "and there's no way I'd have been able to make it up there, stay for a Sunday night show and get back here in time to open the lab Monday morning, so he's borrowing my car—"

"I can't believe you let him drive your car." Arthur falls back onto the sofa, soft pillows cushioning and letting out a hushed _fooff_.

"And I was hoping perhaps you could give me a lift in tomorrow?" Merlin folds himself cross-legged on the floor between the coffee table and sofa, and peels the lid off one of the containers.

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Arthur leans over Merlin's shoulder to stab his fork into a piece of beef covered in savory sauce and bits of green onion.

"There's rice in that one." Merlin points.

Arthur opens it up and digs in, getting brown sauce on the white rice, but it's not like either of them will care. "We can go out for lunch, too. Haven't done that in a while."

"Won't it be a bit difficult to get all the way across town in the middle of the day?" Merlin says with his mouth full. "Not gonna leave us much time to actually eat before you've gotta get back to the office."

Arthur makes a small 'hm' noise. "I don't think I'm going to go in tomorrow."

Merlin looks at him, eyes wide, for a long moment, but thankfully doesn't say anything. He sets his carton down and crawls across the floor to the entertainment unit, slides the first DVD in and starts it up. As the opening credits roll, Arthur leans back in his seat and puts his feet up on the table. Merlin knocks his feet out of the way, and trades cartons with him.

Arthur waits for it, watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye, and when Merlin opens his mouth, Arthur says, "No quoting."

Merlin glares at him. "You take all the fun out of everything." Arthur gives him a smug grin. Of course they both end up reciting all the best lines anyway.

At some point Arthur migrates from the sofa to the floor, pillows stacked up behind him and Merlin. They've managed to rack up quite a few empty bottles between them and for some reason, after _Die Harder_ and before _With a Vengeance_ , they'd thought it'd be a good idea to order pizza.

They're just at the water jug scene when Merlin's phone buzzes in his pocket. Arthur feels it on his foot and nudges Merlin to answer. He pauses the DVD when Merlin says Will's name, knowing it won't be a short conversation. Arthur thinks that for the amount of time those two spend together, and their ridiculously co-dependent relationship, they should just go and get married.

That thought gives him a sudden headache, like brain-freeze from eating ice cream too fast. He slides sideways off the pillow mountain and stares up at the ceiling. It's spinning pleasantly, like a ride.

"Where's your laptop?" Merlin asks, shaking Arthur's leg.

"Nrsk." He points vaguely in the direction of his home office and feels the heat of Merlin's body beside him disappear as he gets up. "Wha'you need it for?" he calls out, slinging his arm across his suddenly tired eyes.

"Will got turned around somewhere on the road. I'm giving him directions."

"How are _you_ going to give him directions?"

"Anyone can read Google maps."

"Merlin," Arthur says, sitting up to try and peer over the back of the sofa, "you got lost in IKEA."

"Did not! Isn't my fault that place is a giant Swedish maze full of shiny things!" Merlin comes back to set the laptop on the coffee table and settle back onto the floor. "And I didn't get lost. I just couldn't find the exit," he mutters under his breath, presumably typing an address into the search bar.

"Why don't you have a GPS in your car?"

"Like I can afford GPS. Will," he says into the phone, "I don't think that road exists."

"I'm buying you a GPS." Arthur snatches the phone out of Merlin's hand and shoves his way in front of the laptop. "Get back on the M6."

_"Go fuck yourself, mate!"_

"If this is the correct address," Arthur continues, "then you need to get back on the M6 and keep going north. Follow the signs. Or for fuck's sake, get a map. And you shouldn't be talking and driving, idiot, you're going to crash Merlin's car." Tossing the phone at Merlin, Arthur hauls himself to his feet and heads to the toilet for a piss.

He returns, head a little clearer so he grabs some more beer from the fridge. Merlin's still on the phone, but he quickly ends it when he looks up. "Gotta go, Will. Have a good show. Wish I could be there. Yeah, bye." He presses play on the remote and settles back against the sofa cushions. Merlin takes the offered bottle with a small smile, eyes bright. Arthur falters, just for a second.

Sometimes Merlin still looks at him like _that_. Arthur wonders if he even realizes he still does it. Maybe it's just one of those things Merlin never learned to hide, no matter how hard he tried to. And Arthur knows he tried. Mostly, Arthur doesn't think about it, though.

He settles back down next to Merlin, leaning into his bony shoulder, and stares at the television. "I can never remember how they solve it," he says, gesturing to the water jugs.

Several minutes and nearly busted bottles later, they conclude that they can't replicate it using beer bottles of equal size. And Arthur misses the solution once again.

* * *

The DVD menu music is repeating in the background, the film having ended some time ago (nobody ever watches the fourth one, no matter what they say). The flashing images are a little mesmerizing to Arthur, repeating over and over, cycling, spinning...

Somehow they've started talking about past relationships, which is hilarious because Merlin's barely had any and Arthur's… well.

He wonders what Gwen is doing.

Arthur lifts the bottle to his lips again and tips his head back. Nothing comes out. He brings it up to his eyeball and peers in, holds it completely upside-down, not even a dribble. He lets the bottle fall to the carpet and roll away, and his head falls back onto the floor. He's lying parallel to the couch now, stretched out in the space between it and the coffee table. Merlin's hair is tickling his arm, his head dangling over the side of the couch with his feet up over the back. 

Merlin's still talking about that absolute twat that he lost his virginity to (and who Arthur always wanted to punch in the junk), saying how much he sort of regrets, yet doesn't regret it. Arthur reaches up and tugs on Merlin's hair, letting it slip through his fingers and curl around his thumb, pulling gently.

"My first crush was on my nanny Sophia," he says out of the blue, staring up at the ceiling. "I even marched into Father's office one day and told him I was going to marry her."

"I know. Morgana likes to tell that story at holidays. Er—" Merlin pulls a face, "when your father isn't present, of course, because she knows how it upsets him."

"I was _five_ ," Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "He thought it was funny at the time. I remember him laughing when I announced my plans to take over his company and buy a big house for Sophia and myself."

"Um, I think he gets upset about the part where she tried to kidnap you and hold you for ransom." Merlin's legs slide down the back of the couch and he pulls himself upright. Arthur's fingers fall away from his hair. "It was good she never got you off the grounds; anything could have happened to you."

"Well, yes, there was that." Arthur waves that away with a flip of his hand. "I don't really remember that part, though. I just remember later, it was evening and I was getting ready for bed, and my father came and hugged me. That was when I knew that something had been wrong." He pauses, that feeling coming back to him of realizing just how small he was. "I do sometimes wonder what happened to her, though. I mean, obviously my father used all his power to put her away, but surely attempted kidnapping, even of Uther Pendragon's son, doesn't warrant that long of a sentence."

"Your father is a terrifying man."

Arthur 'hmm's, nodding just slightly. "I haven't spoken with him in a couple weeks. He stopped calling, though."

"Yeah." Merlin slides down onto the floor beside him again, nudging his legs out of the way. "Morgana has. He's… you should go see him soon, Arthur."

He makes room and reaches for another beer. "Why are we talking about my father?"

Merlin shrugs, shoulder bumping Arthur's side. "You brought him up."

"I did not. I was… I was talking about _girls_. You're the one who dragged my father into this."

"Well, I don't know why you're talking about girls with me. What do I know about girls?"

"You should know plenty, Merlin, since you are one." He shoves Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin shoves him back. "You wish."

Arthur pauses, bottle just touching his lips. "What does that even mean?"

"What?"

"What?"

Arthur squints at him, and Merlin's face screws up. "What? Stop staring at me."

"Merlin." Arthur grabs the sleeve of Merlin's shirt and tugs, dragging him sideways down to the floor so they're lying side by side. "I think you're drunk."

Merlin scoffs. "Right." He settles, one arm behind his head, and knocks his foot against Arthur's ankle a couple of times.

"Morgana hasn't talked to me, either," Arthur says, quietly, feeling Merlin still beside him. "Guess she took Gwen's side."

"Nobody took anybody's side," Merlin says, bit of chiding in his tone. "And I don't think she's talked to Gwen. Least, that's the impression I got."

He eyes Merlin for a moment. "You have, though." He doesn't need Merlin to confirm. "She's… is she?"

"Yeah." Merlin nods. "I mean, I think so. Staying with her father for a bit. She took her… um, her leave, but she's back at work now."

 _Her leave._ For their honeymoon. Right. "Well, you should tell her to come and get her stuff," Arthur sneers, gesturing at the pile in the corner. "Not like there's much there. God, she barely kept anything here. I mean, we weren't even living together yet, for fuck's sake. How did we ever think it was going to work out? Honestly, what the _fuck_ were we _doing_?"

"You wanted to marry her," Merlin says, voice quiet. "She wanted to marry you, too. At one point, I know it."

"Yeah, well." Arthur sits up and drains his bottle. "I don't think marriage is in the cards for me anymore. I don't think I'm going to do relationships anymore at all. Fuck them all!" He's going to end up alone. Alone and miserable, just like his father. "Who in their right mind would want to put up with me?"

"I always thought it would be Gwen."

"Yeah…" And Arthur has to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. It goes down bitter. "Well good riddance to that bitch."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't tell me what I mean."

"You can't fool me, Arthur." Merlin rises next to him, shifting until they are shoulder to shoulder once more, leaning back against the sofa. "I know how much you love her. I've watched you two together for the last six years."

"We were only together for three." Arthur shrugs, but the indifference he's going for isn't coming through in his voice.

"Yeah, but it was always there."

"I guess." He sighs, says, "She's _Gwen_ ," because that should explain it all. "I mean… she was Morgana's friend, but she was always there, you know?" And she was his friend, too. Before they were ever anything else, they'd always been _friends_. "I really thought she'd always be there."

Merlin's arm slides around his shoulders, warm and comfortingly heavy. "I'm still here," he says, pulling Arthur into his side and smiling that smile of his.

"Yeah," Arthur whispers, nodding, and his face brushes Merlin's cheek, skin soft and sweet smelling. And Merlin looks at him like that all the time.

He leans in closer, the heat from Merlin's body seeps through Arthur's clothing and deep into his blood and bones. Merlin is the one who has always been there for him. _Will_ always be there for him.

He skims his nose across Merlin's cheek and presses his lips to the corner of Merlin's mouth. "What—" Merlin gasps, but Arthur moves in to stop him, covering his mouth completely, hand cupping Merlin's cheek to keep him there. His lips are soft; he tastes like beer and pizza grease and soy sauce.

"Arthur… wait, stop," Merlin mumbles against his mouth, then jerks his head back roughly. "Don't, Arthur."

"Come on, Merlin." He grabs at his shoulders to hold him still, keep him close, _keep him_. "Isn't this what you've been wanting ever since we met?"

It's the wrong thing to say and Arthur knows it as soon as the words have left his mouth. A myriad of emotions flicker over Merlin's face: shock, embarrassment, and finally crushing betrayal. "No," he says, pulling away and rising shakily to his feet.

The door closes with a near-silent _snick_ , and Arthur is left, once again, alone in his empty flat.

* * *

**September**

"My offer still stands," Will says, stuffing at least half a loaf of bread into his mouth, legs swinging over the side of Merlin's kitchen counter.

"Thanks, but..." Merlin gives him a half-smile and a shrug. "It's the thought that counts."

"Bastard could use a good kick in the stones. Least of all, cuz it would stop his line right there. No more bastard Pendragons unleashed on the world."

"He's not—" Merlin starts, but he just can't seem to muster up that old argument. Not now and not with Will. Arthur's always been… a bit of an arse, if unintentionally. He'd grown up with all that privilege that he sometimes forgot not everyone was afforded the same. He has a good heart, just not always much forethought.

But he'd never been deliberately cruel before.

"He was hurting," Merlin offers lamely.

"He's a douchebag, Merlin, and he always has been." Will hops down from the counter and claps a hand onto Merlin's shoulder. "He's not worth it, mate."

"I guess." Merlin stares down at the cracked and peeling floor of his kitchen, says quietly, "He hasn't even called."

Will's hand moves up to his neck, squeezes briefly before dropping away. "We going?"

Nodding, Merlin grabs his keys and lets Will lead him out into the night.

Will's friends are always fun. Loud, rowdy, generally off their faces, and always happy to have Merlin hanging around. They talk a lot about music, which Merlin enjoys — he may not be a musician like most of them, but he knows a thing or two. Unlike with Arthur, whose music collection consists of… well, whatever's on the radio.

Arrogant, carefree, stupid, oblivious Arthur. How had he even known? Has he always known? Has he been secretly laughing about Merlin's ridiculous crush on him for all these years? _Oh god_ , did everyone know? Did _Gwen_ know? Merlin's been too ashamed to even talk to her. Morgana knew but Morgana always knows everything, sometimes even before you know it yourself.

"Oi, Merlin," Will shouts into his ear over the din, poking him in the shoulder, "isn't that your new squeeze?"

Merlin looks where he gestures and spots a familiar head of fabulous hair. Gwaine is dancing in the middle of a crowd, head thrown back and eyes closed as though there's nothing in the world right now but him and the music. He seems to glow, the only thing in the room illuminated. His head dips forward and eyes open, and Merlin knows the second they land on him.

He bites his lip to keep from grinning, suddenly feeling a whole lot warmer, lighter. "He's not—" Merlin shakes his head, shrugs. "We've just hung out a few times."

"Hung out?" Will asks, eyebrows raised. "You 'hang out' with me, mate. What you do with him is _not_ hanging out."

"Oh fuck," Merlin squeaks.

"Exactly," Will says.

"Shut up," Merlin shoves Will's shoulder roughly, "he's coming over."

As Gwaine approaches Merlin first sits up straighter, then drops his shoulders again, attempting a casual pose. He sighs and mentally rolls his eyes at himself. Gwaine slings his arm around Merlin's shoulder the second he's in reach.

"Was wondering when I'd see you again," he says into Merlin's ear.

Trying to shrug, without dislodging the warm arm, Merlin replies, "You have my number."

"And you have mine." Gwaine grins, slips his fingers around Merlin's on his glass and tugs it up to his mouth, stealing a drink. He glances to the side, nods and says, "Will, isn't it?"

"All right, mate." Will tips his head back, raising his glass.

Gwaine joins them at their table, talking and laughing easily with Will and his friends, and Merlin sits back, marveling at how well Will gets along with him. Checking out random girls at the bar together might've gone a ways in helping that. After the first comment from Gwaine about the blonde in the silver top cut low enough to leave _nothing_ to the imagination, Will gives Merlin a questioning eyebrow. Merlin just shrugs, because yeah, he knows. Gwaine's been nothing but direct and upfront during their acquaintance, and it's good. There are no illusions here. No secrets to be revealed somewhere down the line and destroy everything.

"Merlin had an imaginary girlfriend once," Will says, laughing.

"Shut up, Will; I was nine." Merlin punches him in the chest and Will flops back into his seat. "Anyway, it's perfectly normal for kids to have imaginary friends. Freya was special. She had magical powers and could turn into a great winged beast to protect me from enemies," Merlin declares with a proud smile.

Gwaine, holding his glass halfway between the table and his lips, studies him a moment. "What nine-year-old needs protection from enemies?"

Merlin shrugs, looking away, down at his hands on the table. "Kids can be… mean. When you're different." He glances sideways at Gwaine's face, but it's too dark to see his expression.

Will drops his empty glass onto the table. "Don't know what he needed a magical beast for. Anyone messed with Merlin and I'd kick their arse."

Gwaine looks from Will to Merlin and back. Then smiles, tilting his head in Will's direction. "As any good friend would. I think it's my round, gentlemen." He drums his fingers on the table as he stands, then heads off to the bar. On the way there, the blonde in the silver top stops him and they get to chatting. He sweeps her hair back, tucking it gently behind one ear, and she touches his arm lightly, giggling and blushing.

Will taps Merlin with his glass. "You're okay with that?" he asks nodding in Gwaine's direction.

"Sure." Merlin looks away and sort of wonders at his own okay-ness. "It's not like he's my boyfriend. I mean, yeah we've hooked up a couple of times, but… I don't know." He shrugs. "You're the one always saying that sex can just be sex."

"Yeah." Will nods slowly. "But you've never felt that way."

"I like him…" Merlin answers, thoughtful, "but sort of more as a friend, you know?"

"If you're still hung up on—"

"I'm not," he insists, because he absolutely isn't, at all. That's never going to happen and he doesn't even want to think about it. "I'm… I'm not."

"So… no more benefits between you two, then?" Will smirks, gesturing toward Gwaine now returning from the bar with three beers in hand.

Watching him weave through the crowd, graceful and gorgeous, Merlin grins. "Come on, I'm only human."

* * *

"It's been almost three months," Leon says idly, "and _now_ you're acting like a bear with a sore head?"

Arthur punches the keys on his phone, battery drained away, and slips it back into his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not." Leon is too busy checking his own phone messages to truly be paying any attention to Arthur, but he doesn't know what the real problem is anyway.

Merlin hasn't called, or texted, or emailed. At all. Arthur's even gone as far as writing out long rambling emails, and stunted text messages. He didn't send any of them, but that's not the point. Merlin never stays mad this long. He knows Arthur didn't mean it. He was drunk!

Of course Leon would think his mood is about the wedding. Arthur hasn't even thought about Gwen in days. He really should… call her. Or something.

Shaking his head clear, he marches toward the front doors of Pendragon Co., determined to put this all out of his mind for a little while. Before he can even reach for the handle, a burly man in a blue security uniform steps in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he places his hand none-too-gently on Arthur's arm, "you can't enter the building."

"What are you talking about, I can't enter the building? I _own_ this building."

"Not anymore," the guard says, and even has the temerity to smirk before adding, "sir."

Through the glass Arthur spies Tristan, Williams, even Malcom Barry all walking through the lobby together along with a group of suited men and women that he doesn't recognize. In the midst of them a flash of deep purple catches his eye and, when he squints, resolves itself into the fine silk of one of Morgana's favorite designer skirts. She notices him, meets his eye and holds it for a long moment, then turns away and leads the group through the large oak doors into the main building.

Arthur pulls back from the glass to stare down the guard. "Where is my father? I demand to spe-"

"Arthur." Leon stops him, his mobile raised to his ear. "Yes," he speaks into the phone, "we'll be there as quickly as possible."

* * *

The doctor's white coat has a smudge on the collar — brownish, maybe rust, or dribbled food. Or blood. It's all Arthur sees.

"Your father has suffered a severe heart attack. He's resting now, and we're monitoring him. We'll know more when he wakes up."

The words wash over Arthur, but the meaning doesn't really sink in. Vaguely he registers Leon by his side, smooth voice ebbing and flowing along with that of the doctor.

"Arthur. Arthur!"

His eyes snap to Leon's face, struggling to focus. "Huh?" He finds himself seated in a squeaky plastic chair, unsure of how he got there.

Leon stands before him, bent slightly to look him in the eye. "Morgana has seized control of the company. She's been rallying the board members for… Christ," he stands back, running a hand through his hair, "I don't know. Months, perhaps? She's got them all. The ones loyal to your father have been let go. Arthur? Do you understand what this means?"

Arthur nods. "He's alive. I should go see him."

* * *

Merlin continues to try stacking everything onto one plate — crackers, assorted cheeses and fruits — but the grapes keep rolling everywhere and the crackers slide off as soon as he picks it up. He rummages through his cupboards for a clean bowl big enough, but of course he doesn't have one. Instead he finds a big metal soup pot (where he got it, he has no clue) and dumps the whole lot into that. It'll do.

Thankfully Will's away on tour with his band. Otherwise Merlin would never be walking around naked, let alone making lunch — or a quick snack, whatever — in the buff. Not outside his bedroom, anyway. He offers a couple of the smaller grapes to Kiki as he passes. She's penned up right now; she has a habit of attacking certain people's ankles for no reason at all these days.

He hears his phone ringing from the bedroom and tries to hurry back, juggling pot, wine bottle, and two glasses in his arms. When he reaches the open door he's greeted with the sight of Gwaine's bare arse bent over the rumpled bed.

He leans back up with Merlin's phone in hand, flipping it open to answer. "Hello, you've reached Merlin's trousers. He's not in them right now, but if you leave a message I'll make sure he finds it." Gwaine pulls the phone away from his face and frowns. "Well, that was rude. They hung up on me."

"Who was that?" Merlin sets everything down carefully on the rickety chair beside the bed and takes the phone to check. "Huh. Private number." He starts to protest when Gwaine plucks the phone from his hands and tosses it over the other side of the bed, but is silenced by firm lips on his.

"If it was important they'll call back," Gwaine says, hand sliding down Merlin's side to his hip and Merlin forgets all about it.

* * *

Arthur jerks the phone from his ear, ending the call abruptly. He stares at it for a moment before handing it back to Leon. He takes his own mobile out of his pocket to check it. Yes, battery still dead and has not magically recharged itself in the last two hours.

His father sleeps. Still. Arthur stays just inside the room, standing in one corner as far from the bed and nearest to the door as possible. His father has never looked… small to him before. Uther Pendragon was a giant, tall and broad, _immense_.

The man lying in this hospital bed looks frail, and… old. His jaw, stern and sturdy, is slack, hanging open in sleep. His face is pale and deeply lined. And when had his father's hair gone so grey? When had his hands shriveled?

Leon's mobile rings, the noise loud and startling in the stillness of this room. "Hel—" Leon speaks into his phone, his normally impassive face goes quietly thunderous. "Yes, he is. I don't— All right." He holds the phone out to Arthur. "It's…" his jaw twitches, "your sister."

Arthur stares at the phone for a long moment, time stretching out infinitely, the background beeping of machines becomes louder in his ears, more insistent, until the white noise roar of blood rushing drowns it all out.

He takes the phone. "Morgana."

_"I only just got word. How is he?"_

"How is…" Arthur shakes his head. " _You put him in hospital_!"

_"I've been warning him about his diet for years."_

"His… Are you _trying_ to kill him?! What did you think this would do? What were you planning to accomplish?"

_"I can't talk to you if you're going to be like this, Arthur."_

"You can't—" He sputters, chokes. "You can't talk to _me_? You?! Do you realize what you've done?"

_"I'm making things better, Arthur. When you've calmed down, there's a place for you here. I'll be by to see father this evening."_

"No you will not! Don't you dare. Don't you _even_ dare show your face here. You kept me out of my own building; I can do the same here. You think I don't have people? I HAVE PEOPLE. You won't—" For the second time today, he jerks the phone away from his ear in shock. He looks up at Leon. "She hung up on me."

Leon takes the phone from him, pats his shoulder, and says, "Stay here. I've got calls to make. I'll sort it, Arthur. When your father comes round—" Leon stops, looking pained. "Just tell him I'm taking care of it."

His father is mostly out of it for another day and a half, and when he wakes he is unable to speak. Arthur tries staying with him, but his father becomes so frustrated and agitated that it does more harm than good. And Arthur finds it difficult to see him like that.

He quietly excuses himself and winds his way through the hospital corridors seeking fresh air. He sits himself down on a stone bench in a patch of shade just outside the building, lets himself breathe deeply.

He pulls out his phone, and then realizes it's still dead. He stares at it for a long while before stuffing it back into his pocket.

Merlin probably hasn't called, anyway.

Arthur stays outside for a long time, silently wondering what exactly he's supposed to do now.

When he finally wanders back to his father's private room, he stops short of the door at the sound of a familiar voice coming from inside.

"I know you never liked me. Never approved," she says, with a soft half-hearted laugh. "I know that you were just protecting Arthur. And you were right to."

Arthur peeks his head around the door just enough to see Gwen by his father's bedside. He's asleep again, thank god, there's no telling how this scenario would go were he awake. Gwen is on duty, judging from her rumpled scrubs, hair pinned up with that one stubborn curl dangling across her cheek. She looks just the same as he remembers. And why shouldn't she? It hasn't been that long. But he thinks maybe he had expected some drastic change, some extreme difference, for her to somehow not be the same girl he's known for most of his life.

She bends forward, as if to kiss Uther on the forehead, but straightens instead, hands hanging at her sides. "I never wanted to hurt him."

Backing away down the hall as quietly as he can, Arthur slips into the first door he finds, hiding there until he's sure Gwen's disappeared round the corner. He thinks he should probably get out of here, so as not to run into her again. But he isn't entirely sure where he could go just now. Or what he should be doing. The whole company clusterfuck is just too much for him to even think about and… he's alone. He's got no one.

There's not a single person in this city he feels comfortable asking to come help him. Not anymore.

* * *

**October**

The fall of Uther Pendragon is big news in the corporate and financial world, but it doesn't really trickle down quickly to the grunts sequestered in the lab. Merlin reads about it in a newspaper two weeks old that someone left in the lounge by the coffee machine.

He goes immediately to Gaius, rushing up the stairs to his office and blowing through the door like a whirlwind, sending pages fluttering off the cluttered desk. Catching his breath, he slaps the newspaper onto the desk in front of Gaius and pants, "Did you know?"

Gaius raises one eyebrow and looks up at Merlin over the rim of his glasses. He scans the paper, then sits back in his chair and nods with a sigh. "Yes. I had heard through mutual acquaintances."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Merlin practically shouts.

He gets the eyebrow again. "I assumed you'd hear it from Arthur."

Merlin deflates, slumping against the wall as there's not a place to sit. "We're not… we haven't…" He shrugs his shoulders plaintively, barely able to meet the old man's eyes. "I'd have thought he'd call me about _this_ at least." Merlin jolts up suddenly. "Oh god! What if he thinks I knew and he was waiting for _me_ to call?"

He scrambles through his pockets and pulls out his phone. "I should call. Right now. Right? No." He stuffs his phone back in and pulls out his wallet instead. "No, it's too late for a lousy phone call now. I should go see him. I've got—" he fumbles through his wallet silently counting notes, "maybe enough for a cab… or I can get Will to bring my car and drive me. Though he's probably still sleeping, lazy git." Merlin stops mumbling to himself when he notices Gaius standing and ushering him out the door. "Uh—"

"Yes, you should go to him, Merlin. I'll walk you out." Gaius grabs his hat from the stand before shoving Merlin out the door and locking it behind them.

"Where are you going?" Merlin asks.

"I've… I have a meeting."

Merlin grins suddenly. "You have a date." Gaius says nothing. "You know you're going to have to introduce us sometime."

Gaius harrumphs and continues to drag him down the corridor.

In the end, Merlin has just enough for a cab and a sad looking bouquet of flowers from a street vendor. He's approaching the reception desk to ask where he might find Uther Pendragon when someone else entirely catches his eye.

It's Gwen. He isn't sure what to do, thinks maybe he should hide somewhere, but he hesitates a second too long and she turns, spotting him immediately. Her face is unreadable at this distance, but she comes toward him purposefully and when she calls his name, she's smiling.

"Gwen, hi. I was just—" he gestures vaguely with the flowers. "Cuz Arthur's father… Did you hear?"

"Yes. I saw him after it happened." She frowns at him. "You know he's gone, right?"

The world drops out from under him. "What?" he croaks.

"He's…" Gwen's face shifts dramatically. "Oh no! No, not—I meant, no, not that. He's fine. Recovering." She nods reassuringly and Merlin sags with relief. Not that he's the biggest Senior Pendragon fan, but that would…

"So, he's not in hospital anymore?" Merlin asks.

"No, um, I believe Ar…" she stumbles a moment. "Arthur took him to the country. To recuperate. I, um, I heard through some mutual… um, acquaintances." She bites her lip and looks down at the floor, then abruptly back up to him. "Why are you here now? Surely Arthur would've told you."

"I… um." Merlin stares at his wilting flowers, until Gwen lightly touches the back of his hand.

"Do you want to come get lunch with me? I feel like we haven't talked in ages."

He finds himself nodding immediately, a lightening in his chest billowing. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Over a shared slice of chocolate cake, Merlin tells her, haltingly, everything that's happened. She looks surprised, but not angry or hurt. "I had no idea, Merlin," she says. "All this time?"

He nods, embarrassed. "It's not like I was harboring some secret hope that he'd see me and we'd… I dunno. And I'd never have done anything, Gwen. Never. Not to you. I was happy for you both. Happy to be your friend, be Arthur's friend."

"I know that. I wish we could—" She stares off at some point beyond him. "Sometimes I wish we could all go back, you know? It was so much easier then."

"Yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

"But I'd do it right this time," she says more firmly and less wistful. "I'd… I'd stop him from going." Merlin frowns, unsure what she means by that, but she goes on. "Stop it all before it got so out of hand. And maybe Arthur and I would still be friends."

"Maybe you guys will… get back together," Merlin says.

"No." She shakes her head, mouth curving into a sad smile. "No. That won't happen. It's not what either of us wants. Well," she pauses, "I've never really been sure just what Arthur wants. He's always… he's always needed to be everything his father expected of him. But I think, truly, he's probably _wanted_ to just be better. A better man. A better husband. A better father."

"He is, though," Merlin says. "I mean, he's always been better at that job than anyone. I know he hasn't always loved it, but he's good at it. And… okay, I'm not—I don't wish to speak ill of the man, but Uther's never… he's not really…"

"Arthur's a better man," Gwen says softly. "Always has been. I see it, you see it, anyone who knows him can see it. Except Arthur, because his father can't acknowledge it. And maybe that's all he's ever wanted, really. It's why he went into the business, even though he hates it. Why he gave up drawing when his father told him it was a waste of his time. And he was fine with it, Arthur was. Anything to make his father happy."

Merlin chews the inside of his cheek. He's been Arthur's best friend for years now, but Gwen grew up with him, knows things he's never told Merlin. She maybe knows Arthur better than anyone.

"But he chose you against his father's wishes," Merlin says finally, with a small smile.

"Yes, he did." She smiles back at him, a speculative look in her eye. "Maybe that was as far as he was able to rebel then."

* * *

The sunlight has changed too much since he began, but it doesn't really matter because the damned horse won't stand still anyway. Arthur stares down at his sketchpad. The flanks look all right, but there's something off about the horse's head, or ears. The drawing is about half from observation and half Arthur's imagination. Maybe sixty-forty in the other direction, actually.

He should turn it into a unicorn, paint a rainbow around it or something, and send it to Merlin.

Arthur slumps against the tree trunk at his back, plucking blades of grass between his fingers. Elena waves from across the paddock, heading toward the stables with two geldings and the new stable hand William, for whom Arthur believes she secretly has a thing. He's seen them sneaking off together a few times over the past week. Man's as clumsy as an ox and doesn't look like he's shaved or even _washed_ since the turn of the century, but Elena's always marched to her own drummer. Of course his name would be William. All of Arthur's friends run off with Wills.

He goes back to the sketch, shading the horse's mane. Merlin probably wouldn't even accept the drawing; he'd think Arthur's just having a go at him. He wonders if Merlin knows he's left the city. Surely he'd have heard about… everything. Arthur knows he pays attention to the news at least _some_ of the time.

Perhaps Merlin has gone and spoken with Morgana. Perhaps he's taking her side in this. Arthur hasn't spoken with her since the hospital, and he doesn't plan to. When his father is well again, he'll… He'll be incredibly disappointed in Arthur, that he did absolutely nothing to stop her.

But Arthur just can't seem to force himself to _care_. He'd been absent from work more than not the past couple of months, and when he was there he wasn't really… _there_. It was always the plan for Arthur to one day assume control. The great Pendragon destiny. So it was written, and so shall it be.

But Arthur… he's realized that he _hates_ the company. He's almost glad… relieved not to be first in line anymore. And it's not as though they're financially ruined or anything. If his father had kept their entire fortune tied up with the business… well that would have just been stupid. And Uther Pendragon was— _is_ many things, but stupid is not one of them. They'll have to make some changes. Arthur, obviously, has to make some decisions for himself soon, but his father may well retire now.

That argument is not going to go well, Arthur knows. Perhaps Leon can help with that. His father tends to listen to Leon more than anyone else.

Here, now, Arthur doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't need to worry just yet. He's got fresh air in his lungs, fields and forests to roam, and a mostly blank sketch pad. If only the damned horses would stand still for a bloody minute.

* * *

Merlin talks with Gwen regularly now — not every day, but a couple of times a week — and he feels so much better for it. Life is not, and never will be again, just how it was when they were all together at uni, but it feels like it might be moving forward in the right direction now. Lance is still a little more reticent about hanging out, and Merlin's unsure whether he wants to pursue the why's behind that or not, but the three of them have had lunch together a few times and it was… not totally awkward. None of them ever really mention Arthur, who still hasn't even phoned him or tried to get in contact in any way.

Gaius still hasn't introduced his lady friend, but then Merlin's barely seen him in the lab lately, anyway. He's happy for the old man — he's been alone far too long. Will's just the same as ever, parading in and out of dives and rundown hotels with a steady stream of girls trailing after him. Business as usual. The band's finished recording their first LP and they've even been on some various radio programs all over the country.

Merlin takes Gwaine to one of Will's gigs and, mostly, he fits right in with their usual fans. Except for the part where he snogs Merlin and almost gets them beaten to death by a couple of very large blokes in the crowd. Will hauls them both up on stage and snogs Merlin himself, screaming at the bouncers to "Fucking get those tossers out of here!" before ripping into a thrashing rendition of _The Dickies'_ 'If Stuart Could Talk'.

They hang around backstage during and after the show. Merlin and Will get falling down drunk while Gwaine makes out with a blonde girl on a ratty couch. Merlin gives him a thumbs up when the girl starts to drag him from the room and Gwaine waves with a happy smirk.

Will hauls Merlin back into the rickety armchair with him, arm slung around his shoulders bringing his lips to Merlin's ear. "That's all right?" he asks, gesturing after them.

"I told you, he's not my boyfriend. We're not…" Merlin shrugs. "We don't really have all that much in common, outside of, um."

"Right," Will chuckles. "You two been "umming" quite a lot though, haven't you?"

"Not lately. Not really. Gwaine's great, fun to be with and all that, but… well, we don't really talk about… things. I can't just, you know… He's not—"

"Arthur."

It's funny, when Merlin really thinks about it, how much Gwaine is very much like Arthur. They like the same foods, the same beer, the same football team, the same type of girls even. But the two of them would never get along in a million years, he just knows it.

Grabbing Will by the arm, Merlin pulls him up out of the chair. "Let's get out of here," he says, as they stumble over outstretched legs and passed out bodies. Together, they trudge home on wobbly legs, laughing and singing into the night.

* * *

**November**

It's completely unexpected when Merlin runs into Morgana. They don't exactly run in the same circles anymore, or live anywhere close to one another. So when he sees her at the counter of the coffee place just round the corner from his building, he debates just a bit too long on whether or not he should go in before deciding to bite the bullet. They haven't spoken in months, but it's not like the two of them had had any great falling out. Just because it's all fucked up between the rest of their friends doesn't mean he can't talk to her. Except for…

"I think I'm supposed to be angry with you right now," Merlin says, stepping up next to her and placing his usual order. He pulls off his gloves and stuffs them into his coat pocket.

Morgana arches an eyebrow at him; she's surprised, he can tell, but not by his presence here. She waits for Merlin to get his coffee and gestures for him to join her at a table. When they sit down across from each other, she says, "I think I'm supposed to be angry with you, too."

"You're not?" Merlin asks, eyes darting away from her gaze to stare down into his cup. "Only… you've sort of been looking at me like I tried to poison you or something."

"Are you going to deny that you told Gwen about my… feelings for her?"

Merlin winces. "Oh. I… yeah. Um, it was an accident?" He looks up to meet her eye, gauge how upset she might be, but she's just watching him coolly. And something occurs to him. "But that means… you two are talking again?"

Morgana nods, and takes a sip, then places the cup carefully on the table between her hands. "Yes. We're talking. We've… talked. And worked some things out and… well, we got over ourselves, to put it bluntly."

"That's great!" He feels a broad smile spread over his face and a strange feeling of relief wash over him. "I mean it, really, because a world where you and Gwen aren't friends is just wrong."

Her smile is soft, more subdued, but there all the same. "About as bad as a world where you and Arthur aren't friends, I'd imagine. Gwen told me," she clarifies. "My brother is quite an idiot sometimes."

Merlin flushes, his face growing so hot he can't even blame it on the coffee, and he averts his eyes again. "I'm not angry with him anymore, you know," he mumbles. "Don't think I ever was, not really. Not _angry_ , just…"

"Betrayed?" Morgana says, quietly. Her face is a porcelain mask, as always, giving nothing away. "I was never angry with Gwen, either." Merlin raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh, all right, I was. She never said a word to me. If I was truly her best friend, why didn't she tell me she was having doubts?"

"You were her best friend. But you're also Arthur's sister and, as much as you both try to hide it, we all know how much you care for him. Gwen thought you'd never want to speak to her again if she broke Arthur's heart."

"I suppose." Morgana sighs. "And yet he's not speaking to me, either."

"Well…" Merlin gestures with his hand, a _'what would you expect?'_

"I know," she huffs. "I'm not saying I'm innocent. I can't even visit my own father."

"Gaius says he's doing better." Merlin offers a tiny smile he hopes looks reassuring. Or something. "He says you've been doing some good things with the company, too."

"I'm trying. I didn't want to go about it that way, you know. It was just… there was never… and I couldn't even—" Morgana swipes a hand through the air, cutting herself off. "Arthur won't come back. I told him there was a place for him, I've tried to contact him, to keep him apprised of everything and…" She trails off, sighs heavily and lets her hands drop to the tabletop.

Merlin shrugs, unable to think of anything to say to that. It's not as though he has any insight into Arthur's mind. He certainly doesn't know everything about Arthur anymore. If he ever did. Although… "Gwen thinks, um, well she said once that she thinks maybe Arthur never wanted to run the company anyway. She was pretty sure that he, um, kind of hated it."

Morgana releases a short little huff of laughter. "Well, _obviously_." Her eyes look shiny, as though with unshed tears, and she stares out the window onto the cold, leaf-strewn street. "She tells you more than me. Suppose we've still a long way to go on getting our friendship back. She never even told me about Lance."

He stares at her for a long moment. "Lance? What about Lance?"

* * *

Leaning idly in the corridor, Arthur casts his gaze up and down, flitting over the sick people that he can't bear to linger on. His father is happily ensconced (read: sedated) in a private room waiting for his own doctor to perform a thorough check up. Leon's taking care of pretty much everything and Arthur's… bored. Feeling a bit useless. The Pendragon House is all set for his father's return, with new staff hired on specifically for his care. Which Arthur knows his father will hate, but will accept as necessary. The man can still barely walk any distance under his own steam.

Standing about in the hospital halls is making Arthur antsy. He has this strong ache deep in his gut to talk with Merlin. But then Merlin hasn't called him back at all. He supposes he should have tried harder to contact him, left a message at the very least, but…

He hears voices coming down the adjacent hallway and he'd recognize that laugh anywhere. It happens so fast, later he's not even one-hundred percent sure that he saw what he saw. Gwen's there, down the other end of the corridor, radiant smile and hair curling at her temple, laughing with her head thrown back, hand clinging to the arm of a man. And then that man is Lance, and he's leaning down into her, guiding her into an open doorway and kissing the laughter off her lips.

Arthur's two corridors away and stumbling past the nurse's station before he even realizes it. He takes a seat in one of the brown vinyl chairs along the wall, hands hanging limply against his knees. It's not as though he didn't know. Suspected, anyway. They'd had a _thing_ back at uni; he knows that, even if no one else did. He's pretty sure Merlin never knew. Morgana, though, she probably knew all along. Morgana always knows everything somehow.

It's not— Arthur breathes deeply, takes stock of himself, and is surprised to find that he's not all that surprised about this. He's not… hurt or angry even. He'd held no lingering notions of him and Gwen ever getting back together, though he'd hoped they'd be friends again one day. And he does wish her happiness…

"Arthur? Is that Arthur Pendragon?"

Startled, he almost chokes on his own breath, looks up in the direction of the voice and spots a man walking toward him. "Oh. Hello. Um, Percival. Percy. Yes, it's…" Arthur shakes his head and stands to greet him. Tries for a smirk. "How've you been then?"

"Good," Percy says, smiling back, perhaps ignoring how awful Arthur assumes he looks right now. "It's good to see you again. Been awhile. I was… sorry to hear about, uh…"

"Ah, thank you." Arthur glances away, then back with an even bigger forced grin. "It was for the best. Gwen… deserved better," he stumbles over the words, but finds he actually means them.

"Well, not sure anyone could do better, but…" Percy's smile then looks more genuine, more relaxed and…

Oh yes, that's why Arthur always liked Percival before; he'd found the man's earnest praise and innocent flirting quite flattering. It's why he'd—he'd tried to set Percy up with Merlin. That thought makes him feel a little bit ill.

He shakes himself when he realizes Percy is talking again. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked how your father is doing. He's in for tests, yeah?"

"Oh. Yes. He's doing well. Just a check up, overnight, then back to the house. The doctors say everything should be fine." Arthur stops for a breath, stops his babbling, and hopes there won't be any more questions. He's tired of answering questions. Tired of people expecting things of him.

Percy's busy at the nurse's station, rifling through folders, clicking a pen. He unclips his nametag from the pocket of his scrubs, twiddles it in his fingers.

"Oh, are you just getting off— I mean, er," Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, "your shift is ending, then?" He can feel his face flaming and glares at the fluorescent lights overhead.

"As soon as I finish this chart." Percy flicks the clipboard in his hand with a pen, fortunately _not_ looking at Arthur.

"Would you…" Arthur starts, shuffling his feet, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I'm basically useless here. Um, I mean in the hospital. Father's mostly out of it and he won't know if I stick around or not. And… um, would you like to go for a drink?"

* * *

He's never been with someone so much bigger than himself before. There was that one girl, back in school, kinda chubby. She had an arse he could really grab onto and breasts he could bury his face in. This is different. Percy is just a wall of muscle as he guides Arthur onto the bed, laying himself down half on top of Arthur. They'd lost their shirts and trousers somewhere in Percy's flat between here and the front door.

Percy's legs are tan and longer, more muscular than his own, straddling his hips. And his hands are enormous, covering most of Arthur's torso. Percy's mouth feels… _awesome_ on his chest, his nipples— _Christ!_ Strange against his own lips, though. Not bad, just… Arthur flicks the stubble under his tongue, imagining he can count each individual hair if he concentrates. Percy's teeth are tugging on his earlobe.

Arthur's not completely sure how they even ended up here. They'd gone for a drink at a small place not too far from the hospital — Percy's local, apparently — where Arthur discovered that Percy… Percy was a _talker_. Not an incessant and annoying chatty type, though. He talked about… real things. World news, politics, sports, academia, little bit of everything really. He was smart, and engaging, and he seemed to genuinely want Arthur's opinion on all of it.

That just wasn't what Arthur'd been looking for. He feels a bit bad about that, feels ashamed that in all the time he'd known the man — even though they'd really only interacted in passing — he sort of just thought of him as a pretty face with not a whole lot going on upstairs. Feels a little guilty that he'd basically come on to Percy to shut him up and make himself feel better.

But he figures they're both going to get laid tonight, so he doesn't feel _that_ bad about it. Percy doesn't seem to mind if the erection rubbing against his dick is anything to go by. And, hey, that's a new sensation.

When he feels his boxers being tugged away, he remembers to be an active participant in this and helps kick them off. He runs his hands along Percy's thighs, up over his hips and finally around to cup his arse and squeeze. Percy moans, breath stuttering against Arthur's collarbone; he feels quite proud of himself for just that, small as it may be.

But Percival is definitely not small. They're both fully naked now, skin to skin, and clearly Percy isn't always a talker. He doesn't make stupid porno chatter, for which Arthur is grateful, he just _does things._ Like wrap his massive hand around Arthur's cock. Lift Arthur's legs and suck his balls into his mouth. Lick him from root to tip and swallow him down. Roll a condom on and climb on board. Arthur hadn't even noticed what Percy'd been doing with his other hand that whole time.

So, it's not his first time to the anal rodeo, but he still comes embarrassingly quickly. Again, Percy doesn't appear to mind, especially when Arthur's brain kicks back in and he wraps his hands around Percy's dick to help get him off. The splash of come over his stomach is kind of startling and not entirely pleasant, but he's too breathless and exhausted to care. Percival rolls off, taking the condom with him and Arthur sort of passes out after that.

It must be several hours later when he wakes, chilled with dried sweat on his skin and sort of… crusty all over his mid-section.

"You can sleep some more," a deep voice says in the dark. "I've got to get back to the hospital. Covering a shift for someone."

"Nng?" Arthur rolls over to see Percy's naked back facing him. He's sitting up on the other side of the bed, pulling a pair of socks on. His hair is wet and his skin all pink and shiny, smelling of soap. "I'm up," Arthur says. "I… pants."

Percy scoops a pile of clothing up off the edge of the bed and drops them in Arthur's lap. "Took the liberty of gathering those for you." He leans in and kisses Arthur softly on the lips.

"Um—"

"Relax, Arthur. I know what this was." Arthur squints at him in the dark, confused. "You weren't looking for a relationship tonight, Arthur. A friend, I'm happy to be."

Staring at his rumpled clothes in his lap, Arthur says, "You're really quite a good bloke."

"I am." Percival chuckles, patting his shoulder like he's a child or a small puppy. "Just not the one you want. And I'm going to be late. So, get dressed or remember to lock the door on your way out."

Arthur showers when he gets back to his flat. He's got to be back at the hospital this afternoon to take his father home. He wonders if it will be awkward should he run into Percival. He kind of has a feeling that it won't be.

But really, the first thing he's thinking is that he sort of wants to tell Merlin that he'd just fucked a man for the first time. He also, sort of, never wants Merlin to find out.

* * *

**December**

He puts the perfume bottle back on the shelf, hand hovering for a moment, then picks it up again. This isn't really something Merlin would have ever got for Morgana before… but it's not like gag gifts and hot pink dildos are going to be acceptable just yet. Maybe never again. It was what they'd done back at uni, but — he sighs — they aren't those people anymore.

It's a nice scent, not flowery or overpowering; perhaps Mum would like it, even though he's already bought her a bunch of gifts — Mum's always easy to shop for. He decides to get the perfume now and wait until later to decide whose name to put on the package. And that's about all the shopping Merlin can take for one day. There's still a week and a half left until Christmas, plenty of time to get the rest of it done. So far, he's got Mum, Gaius, Gwen… and Lance — which is still weird and will possibly make the most awkward Christmas Eve dinner in the history of ever, but Merlin's not here to judge and they are his friends and he still loves them even though they'd been sneaking around for who knows how long and— But it's totally acceptable to get them a joint gift now. So he did, and that's done.

Will's was probably the easiest but the most time-consuming, and there's a stack of vinyl at Merlin's flat just waiting to be wrapped up. If he could get him the new turntable, too, he would, but Merlin's not exactly made of money.

He has nothing for Arthur this year. He tries to tell himself that he's relieved about that, because Arthur is the most difficult person on earth to shop for, but… mostly it just hurts to even think about it.

Holding up the perfume bottle again, Merlin decides that, yes, this will do for Morgana… probably. No, almost definitely. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he almost drops the bottle to answer it, but clutches it tighter to his chest juggling the bottle to get the phone up to his ear. _Nice save, Merlin,_ he thinks, idly.

"Hello?" he says into the phone. There's a soft sniffle on the other end that he recognizes. "Mum?"

"Oh, love." Her voice quavers, soft and breathy, a sob hitching in her throat.

"Mum? What is it, what's wrong?"

When she speaks again, words wavering, Merlin's entire body seems to go numb. The perfume bottle slips from his fingers and shatters on the shop floor, soaking into his trainers. He doesn't notice.

* * *

Even from two rooms away, his father's voice can be heard above all else. Arthur watches the party planner and her minions scurry about. Ms. Catrina is perfectly composed in front of his father, but she snarls at her workers now to _move faster._ Everything will be perfect for the big party.

The fact that Uther Pendragon was only recently bedridden seems to have escaped everyone's memory — which, Arthur concedes, is the point of this whole thing. _'Never show weakness, Arthur,'_ his father is fond of saying. They're even spinning the takeover. No longer a hostile maneuver by the board and a conniving daughter, oh no. In this version, what shall become the official version, the Senior Pendragon gave the reins to his loving daughter and stepped down of his own accord, _temporarily_ , to take care of some minor health problems.

Why he didn't leave his only son, the one being groomed for the position his entire life, in charge… hasn't been asked yet. At least, no one's asked Arthur, for which he is grateful, because he's not sure he could come up with an appropriate bullshit answer.

The party, however, is to demonstrate that Uther Pendragon is still very much the man in charge, and it will be perfect. The barking orders and simpering party planners are giving Arthur a headache. He nearly flinches when Ms. Catrina starts heading his way, but thankfully his phone rings just then. He holds up a hand in Ms. Catrina's direction and hurries away to slip outside.

The air is cold and his breath puffs in front of his face when he answers. "Hello?"

There's a silence on the other end, and then a quiet, _"Arthur?"_

"Morgana?" Arthur struggles to keep his voice steady, breathing under control. His father might be making nice with her for the good of the company or whatever, but he's not ready to forgive yet. "What do you want? I've told you—"

_"It's Merlin."_

The perfectly controlled breath rushes out of him in a thick white cloud and everything feels frozen in place. Light-headed, Arthur barely manages a strangled, "Wha…"

_"There's been an accident."_

"Merlin. Is he all right? What's happened? Where is he?"

 _"He's fine. Physically. I mean, he isn't hurt."_ Morgana sounds flustered, upset, and her reassurances are not reassuring.

"What is it, Morgana?"

 _"Will was driving Merlin's car. He was on his way home. Ehm, after a gig. The rest of the band were all in the van with the equipment. It was just Will in the car…"_ Morgana trails off, silence stretching out longer than the distance between them.

"So, he's in hospital then?" Arthur asks, stupidly hopeful. "I've told Merlin to stop letting that idiot take his car. I knew he'd wreck it one day."

 _"He's not—"_ Morgana sighs. _"He's gone, Arthur. Will's dead."_

After a few moments of numbness, Arthur finds himself sitting on the cold stone pathway in front of the house, legs folded beneath him. He swallows roughly, throat dry, and rasps, "Where is Merlin?"

* * *

He parks just down the narrow road from Hunith's house, turns the car off, and sits there for a long moment. Arthur hasn't been to see Merlin's mum in ages, hasn't been to her house since, well, since last Christmas. Of course, he'd have seen her at the wedding, if that had actually happened.

Climbing out of the car and trudging his way across muddy, sloppy brick and up the front walk to the door, Arthur wonders if she knows. If Merlin told her what he'd done to her son. If she hates him, too. He doesn't stop to think that perhaps he's the last person on Earth that Merlin wants to see. He has to know. He has to see Merlin for himself and know that he's… going to be okay. He has to be here.

When he knocks lightly on the door, it opens just a moment later. Hunith looks up at him with a gentle smile, eyes clear and bright, and immediately folds him into a hug. It surprises him, as it always does, and Arthur lets himself melt against her soft, warm body, and smell the clean, fresh scent of her hair and the homemade soap she uses.

"I'm so glad to see you, Arthur," she whispers into his ear. "You must be frozen." She steps back while guiding him through the door at the same time, pulling it closed firmly to keep out the cold. She reaches up to remove his coat, saying, "Go on through. He's at the piano."

Arthur moves slowly into the darkened house, past the kitchen entryway and the hall lined with photos, to the little room at the side with the purple love seat and the ancient upright piano. "Merlin?"

He's on the bench, huddled into himself, plinking slowly at one key, but he turns then, eyes widening. He rises quickly, nearly tripping over himself and knocking the bench backward, and stumbles the few steps across the room.

"Arthur." Merlin's voice hitches, giving the name an extra syllable, and reaches out blindly.

He wraps his arms around Merlin's shoulders, drawing him close, tucking Merlin's head under his chin. "I came as soon as I heard." He barely registers Morgana and Gwen sitting on the purple sofa, hands clasped together. When he finally looks at them fully, he gives them both a shaky nod. Merlin trembles in his arms and the collar of his shirt is soon soaked through.

* * *

The funeral is a small, quiet affair. Will had no other family aside from Merlin and Hunith. He did, however, have quite a few loyal fans. While the funeral is attended by the family (Mum and Merlin, basically), the remaining members of the band and a scattering of close friends, Will's diehards have their own memorial at a local record shop where _Ragged Band_ 's first full-length album is premiering. There's even a dedication on their local radio station.

Back at Mum's house, Merlin pretty much heads straight to his old bedroom, exactly as he left it all those years ago when he'd moved out. The same posters are still on the wall, closet door still broken, old pictures still taped to the mirror on the back of it. Most are of him and Will in high school, but there are a few of them when they were small, too.

Merlin sits at his old desk and switches on the radio. He catches the tail end of Will's single 'Suck It' before the DJ starts talking over the fading guitar. Will hates when they do that. Hated. He hated when they did that.

He tunes the DJ out until he hears Will's voice, higher than in person, from the radio.

 _"Yeah, it's really more about getting ahead than getting head, you know? Shit, am I allowed to say that on air? Sorry."_ His laugh is a loud, chortling sound. Merlin stares at the radio. This is from only a couple of months ago. Merlin had been there at the station with them. _"A lot of my writing is inspired by my best mate. I won't say his name, because he gets embarrassed, but he's always been there for me. I've never known anyone with more strength or courage. Most of the time, he doesn't even see how awesome he is."_

He clicks the radio off. The door creaks behind him.

"They keep playing that interview," Merlin says, turning just enough to see Arthur from the corner of his eye. "People keep calling in and requesting the song, too."

Arthur steps into the room to stand beside his chair. It's a small room, there's not much choice, and Arthur looks awkward and too large in his black suit. "I didn't know they were getting that big."

Merlin nods. "They had some pretty hardcore followers. I mean, even I didn't get the chance to go to every gig, but I saw a few of the same people at every single one. People loved them. Will." He swallows. "He was easy to love."

Arthur doesn't say anything else, but Merlin feels the weight of Arthur's hand warm on his shoulder.

* * *

They let Christmas pass without much fanfare. Merlin's grateful for that, for having a quiet day with Mum, for his friends, estranged as they may be at the moment, understanding him enough to give him space.

Arthur is forced to suffer through his father's dinner party, making nice with their business associates and… his sister. Merlin hopes that Arthur and Morgana can repair their relationship. If Uther's forgiven her, surely Arthur can do the same.

During the following week he helps Arthur move. "I can't believe you're giving up your flat. You love this place!" he says as they're carrying things out to the lift.

"Well, I can't exactly afford this flat any longer. My new place is fine," Arthur replies, locking the door for the last time. "And it's closer," he adds with a shrug, leaving the _'to your flat'_ unsaid. Merlin grins to himself, behind Arthur's back, as the lift descends.

On New Year's Eve, after turning down several invitations to go out and celebrate, Merlin finds himself gearing up for a night of beer, junk food, and a _Twilight Zone_ marathon. He's not even remotely surprised when Arthur knocks on his door. It says something, he thinks, about their friendship that they can move so easily back into this. That _this_ is just the way it's meant to be, the natural order of the universe or something. And it's good.

* * *

Arthur barges into Merlin's flat like he never left, like he belongs there still, like they haven't spent the last few months apart. And Merlin lets him and that is, he thinks, as it should be.

"I got us curry," he says, putting the bags down in Merlin's tiny kitchen.

"Did you—"

"Yes, I ordered yours mild, you great baby."

"Just because I don't like to singe off my taste buds to prove what a manly man I am…" Merlin reaches past him to grab one of the bags and carry it out to the sofa. He raises one eyebrow at Arthur when he comes through carrying two plates. "We're eating off plates now? Are you doing the washing up then?"

Arthur rolls his eyes and turns to put the plates back. "Fine," he says, "but I'm not eating with my fingers, you savage." He grabs two forks, and a beer from the fridge. Merlin's couch, of course, is still covered with crap, barely enough room for one person there. Arthur moves to the ratty armchair and starts to clear it off. He picks up a hideous orange jumper between two fingers and turns to Merlin, scathing remark on his tongue, but his mouth snaps shut at the look on Merlin's face.

"It's Will's," Merlin says, his voice dry and quiet. "He must've left it here the last time he…"

Arthur folds the jumper carefully over the back of the armchair. He decides to push Merlin's crap off the couch and sit there instead.

"You didn't have to do this," Merlin says quietly, next to him. "I know you had tons of parties to go to. Morgana's having that office thing and I know she invited you and really wanted you to come. You have to forgive her sometime."

"I have," Arthur protests, and Merlin gives him a look. "I have. We're fine, I swear. I just didn't want to go to the party. I mean, I'm not going back to the company, so there's really no point in my being there while my father, probably not-so-silently, disapproves."

"You haven’t told him about art school yet, have you?"

Arthur shrugs. "It's just one life drawing class. We'll see how it goes." He sees Merlin grin out of the corner of his eye and shoves his shoulder into Merlin's, knocking him off balance.

"Shh." Merlin shoves him back, and nods at the telly. "I like this one."

"You like all of them." _The Twilight Zone_ isn't exactly Arthur's favorite show — it's in black and white, the music is grating, and the stories are a bit corny — but he enjoys it well enough. Not only because Merlin does. (But probably mostly because Merlin does.) He finds himself watching Merlin more than the show. Merlin has the most expressive face of anyone Arthur's ever known. He never hides himself away, everything just shines out for the world to see. Arthur wonders if he could ever capture that with pencil and paper.

When they finish their food, Merlin switches the lamp off — because what he really likes best is watching in the dark, cowering beneath a blanket. He swears he doesn't _actually_ get scared. Arthur knows better.

As the night wears on, Arthur sort of stops paying attention to the show. He's warm and happy and drowsy from food and the two beers he'd had with dinner. Merlin hardly moves at all, but for tucking his feet underneath himself and wrapping the blankets tighter around them. There's a squashy pillow stuffed between them that they're both leaning into, keeping Merlin's bony elbows out of Arthur's ribs. When Merlin drifts off to sleep his head ends up on Arthur's shoulder, shaggy hair tickling his neck.

The dim flickering light from the television casts moving shadows about Merlin's flat. The space feels both close and vast at once. But familiar all the same. The air is a little too damp, and draughty, smells of overcooked rice, old socks, and hay. He notices a pair of blue trainers in the corner, one flipped over and half covering the other, and recognizes them as Will's, along with his favorite brown jacket hanging off the back of a kitchen chair. There are picks scattered across Merlin's coffee table, as well, different colors but mostly black or red.

Looking down at Merlin's face, soft in sleep, Arthur can't imagine losing his best friend.

A light touch at his ankle startles him. He jerks his foot off the floor, but stops himself from yelling out or jostling Merlin. He peers down into the darkness and finds a white ball of fur. Kiki sniffs at his ankles again, then hops off into a corner to do… whatever she does.

"You're not going to bite me?" Arthur whispers after her in surprise. "Finally, I meet your approval." He huffs a small, quiet laugh, and turns back to the telly. He digs the remote out of the couch cushions and flips the channel. They've already started the countdown.

"Merlin." He lifts his shoulder, shaking Merlin's head. "Wake up, it's midnight. Merlin. _Meeerrr-lliiinnn_."

"Mm."

"You're actually going to sleep through it, aren't you?" He shakes his shoulder harder; Merlin's head flops forward.

"Shh. I'm awake," he mumbles just as the fireworks explode on the screen.

Arthur looks down and Merlin's eyes are still closed. "It's a new year," he says, bends his head and kisses Merlin's temple.

Merlin turns to face him. "Wha'zat for?"

"Midnight. Tradition," Arthur replies, half smile curling his lips, and Merlin looks back toward the television.

"Should toast or somethin'."

Arthur turns back to watch the fireworks, too. He clicks the TV off. "Nah. I'm tired. Let's just go to sleep."

He half drags Merlin toward the bedroom, stumbling in the dark, but Merlin has to stop and put the stupid rabbit in its cage for the night. Then they both collapse on Merlin's bed, fully clothed.

"I'm sleeping here," Arthur states the obvious. Merlin just grunts at him, kicks off his jeans and pulls the blankets up to his chin. Arthur does the same, and lies there on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the warmth of Merlin's body next to him seeping into his skin.

It's a while later, when Arthur's just started to doze, that Merlin murmurs into the dark, "Will always called me on New Year's at midnight. No matter where he was or what he was doing, if we weren't together, he'd always call."

Will was never Arthur's favorite person, that's no secret. He can't lie and say he misses the guy, too, because he doesn't really, not the same way Merlin does. But he hurts when Merlin hurts. That's not something he can put into words.

He rolls onto his side, reaching out beneath the covers until he finds Merlin's hand.

"They say," Merlin continues, "or it's said, someone says anyway, that whatever you're doing at midnight on New Year's is how you'll spend the rest of the year. Or something like that."

"Well, that's patently ridiculous," Arthur says. "One moment can't determine the whole year, no more than it can the rest of your life. Like New Year's resolutions; it's all bollocks."

Merlin snorts a soft, breathy laugh in the quiet. He shifts onto his side, facing Arthur, their hands still linked. "It'd be nice, though." Their heads are close, just inches apart, sharing the same pillow, the same air. He watches Merlin's face, the way his eyes gleam in the dark, feels a heat rise in him. "I missed you, Arthur."

Nodding absently, pillowcase rubbing roughly against his cheek, Arthur moves forward and presses his lips against Merlin's. This time Merlin doesn't pull away, but he's frowning when Arthur opens his eyes to look at him.

"Last time was wrong," Arthur says. "I was drunk, and upset, and I did it wrong."

"But you don't—"

He cuts Merlin off with another kiss, pressing his whole body against him and bringing up his free hand to cup the side of Merlin's neck. "Does it feel like I don't?" he asks into Merlin's mouth, every inch of them touching. "I missed you, too, you know."

"Arthur…"

"And I don't know… what this will be, Merlin. I don't—" He kisses Merlin's mouth again, fitting their lips together. "But I want you."

Something seems to break in Merlin then, to push forward, and his face loses that tightness, and finally, _finally_ he kisses Arthur back.

Merlin is slight compared to Arthur, but never fragile; there's strength in him equal to Arthur's. He winds his arm around Arthur's body, holding steady, grasping his t-shirt in a tight fist. Arthur moves above him, shifting his weight to knees and elbows. He draws their still linked hands up near Merlin's head, fingers locked together tightly and pressing deep into the pillow. He trails his other hand down Merlin's chest, to the hem of his shirt and slides it up underneath, tracing smooth skin and sharp hipbones.

Merlin makes a small noise in his throat. "Are we—"

"Yeah," Arthur says, breathless, as his hand inches downward to the waistband of Merlin's underwear. It's a little difficult trying to do everything with just his left hand, but his right is still clutching Merlin's and he is reluctant to let go. Merlin helps, and their hands get tangled. He laughs into their kiss, and Arthur chases the sound with lips and tongue, greedy for more. Merlin's hip fits perfectly into the palm of his hand, and they move together seamlessly. Orgasm sneaks up on him, on them both, sudden and surprising and ridiculously inexorable.

He kisses Merlin through it, his mouth and jaw and neck and sweat-damp temple, until their breath begins to even out. Merlin's looking at him again in that way he always used to, and Arthur kisses him one more time before sleep overtakes them.

* * *

He wakes normally, light bleeding through the flimsy curtain over the window above his bed. His nose is freezing — the heating in this building is shoddy at best — but the rest of him is warm. Not for a moment is Merlin confused, the knowledge is there, nothing fuzzy, he remembers everything about last night. They weren't drunk; they have no excuses to make.

He thinks, _Oh fuck,_ and prepares himself for _epic_ awkwardness.

Slowly, so slowly, he shifts Arthur's arm from around his waist and wriggles out of the blankets, landing softly, hands and knees, on the threadbare carpet beside the bed. Thank fuck he doesn't have to search for his clothes; they hadn't even fully undressed last night. He makes his way to the door, trying to avoid the creaky spots.

"Were you trying to sneak out while I slept?"

He stops just past the threshold and turns to find Arthur sitting up in his bed, hair sticking up at all angles, wiping sleep out of his eyes. He's shirtless, because… _oh yes_ , that's lying crusty somewhere on the floor.

"Is…" Merlin stutters, "is that what you were hoping for?"

"Merlin." And he levels him with a stare that's just so _Arthur_. "If I'd been hoping for that do you think I'd have sat up and let you know I was awake?"

"I dunno." Merlin shrugs, crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't know what your morning after manners are like."

"Usually involves an offer of breakfast." Arthur throws the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Or coffee, at least. This is _your_ flat, Merlin, where were you going to go?" He's shaking his head as he comes toward the door, just a few small steps until he's right in front of Merlin.

"Um…" Merlin chews his lip. "I can do toast?"

Arthur rolls his eyes and brushes past him through the doorway. "Well, I can do a whole breakfast."

Following a little dazedly, Merlin sits in one of two chairs at his tiny table in his tiny kitchen. "Just no eggs," he says. "Unless they're scrambled."

"Yes, yes, I will accommodate your bizarre mental disorder." Arthur pulls a skillet from the cupboard and starts rummaging through the fridge.

"It's a legit phobia, Arthur." It's also an old argument, and Merlin finds it comforting.

"It's weird and makes absolutely no sense at all." He stands with the fridge door open, staring into it.

"Unlike, say, a fear of pineapples."

"They serve no purpose whatsoever. There's no reason for their existence."

"I'd have to disagree with you there," he says to Arthur's back. "In fact, I think a lot of people would disagree. Like the entire state of Hawaii."

Arthur makes a dismissive sound through his nose. "And I'm not _afraid_ of pineapples. I just think they're disgusting."

"To the point of not wanting to stay in the same room as one."

"They have a very strong smell! And infect everything they touch." He shuts the fridge and turns to glare at Merlin. "And how do you even live? You have nothing edible in here."

"Told you — toast." Merlin gets up, grabs the bread and pops two slices into the toaster. Arthur moves to the sink and starts a pot of coffee. They move around each other easily — Arthur pulling down two mugs from the top cupboard, Merlin easily slipping beneath his outstretched arm to get the butter and jam (absolutely no marmite) and bring them to the table. He gives Arthur the first two slices and pops two more in for himself. Arthur makes them each a cup of coffee, adding the right amount of milk and sugar for Merlin's.

When they're sitting down, toast buttered and jammed appropriately, and Merlin's got a mouthful, Arthur sets his mug down and clears his throat. "So…"

Merlin swallows. "So?"

"So… what happens now?"

"Oh." He drops his toast onto his plate and busies himself with wiping the crumbs from his fingers. "Um. What do you… I mean, that depends on what you want to happen." He looks up to find Arthur staring at him.

"I want you to still be my best friend."

"Oh." Merlin looks down again. "Right." His cup is empty. He picks it up, stands and moves to refill it. "Yeah."

"Merlin." He hears Arthur sigh behind him. "I mean—Christ, you're not actually going to make me talk about _feelings_ , are you?"

He sets the mug down gently, turns to lean back against the counter. "Arthur, don't joke right now."

Arthur rubs his hands over his face. "It's weird, you know," he says, muffled, "because it's us, but—" At this he stands, chair screeching against the floor, and comes around the table to stand right in front of Merlin. Arthur grabs his hand, locking their fingers together. "But, Merlin, it's _us_."

This time Merlin kisses Arthur first.

* * *

**Epilogue - February**

"We're going to be late," Arthur calls over his shoulder as soon as he hears the shower stop running. He checks his tie in the mirror one last time, turning just as the bathroom door opens and Merlin steps out with a towel around his waist. "You are, by far, the worst best man in the history of ever." 

"I'd've been ready an hour ago if you hadn't jumped me after breakfast." Merlin scowls at him. "If anyone's late, it's your fault. Knew I should've gone back to my place last night," he mutters and starts fumbling about through the scattered debris on top of Arthur's dresser. "Oh god, the rings! I don't—"

Arthur shakes the ring box at him, one eyebrow raised. "Who's the real best man here?" He ignores Merlin's glare and kisses him softly on the lips. "I'll hold onto these for you. Hurry up and get dressed." He saunters out of the room, throwing one last smirk at Merlin… who throws a wet towel at his head.

By some miracle they make it to the Registry Office with minutes to spare. Arthur even manages to find a decent parking space. Merlin's mum is waiting for them on the steps.

"Hello, my boys," she says, drawing Merlin into a hug. She tries to flatten Merlin's hair with her fingers.

"Mum!" He ducks out of the way.

"I wouldn't bother, Hunith," Arthur says, leaning down to kiss her cheek and get his own hug.

She sighs. "I suppose it's a futile effort. Well, are we ready then?" She beams up at him, and Arthur offers her his elbow.

They meet the happy couple inside. Gaius's hair has been tamed, and he's traded his usual shabby lab coat for a sharp navy blue suit. His bride stands beside him in a simple silver sheath dress, hair piled up onto her head with a white flower tucked into the side.

"Alice, you look lovely," Arthur tells her.

"Thank you, Mr. Pendragon."

"Ah-ah. I'm not your boss anymore. It's just Arthur."

"All right, I'm here," Merlin announces. "Let's do this thing." He goes to hug Gaius and Arthur can just see the tears welling in his eyes. "I'm so happy for you," Merlin says, probably strangling the old man with his gangly arms.

"Yes, yes, my boy," Gaius pats Merlin on the back while trying to extricate himself. "Shall we?" he asks them once he's free. Alice loops her arm through his and he leads her through the doors. Merlin starts after them, but Arthur taps him on the shoulder.

"Rings?" he reminds, taking the box from his pocket.

"Oh, right!" Merlin takes it from him, then quickly kisses him on the lips. "Thanks." He offers his arm to his mother and leads her through. Arthur just rolls his eyes, ambling behind them. _Worst best man ever._

* * *

The reception is just a small gathering of friends, neither Gaius nor Alice having any family to speak of. Arthur's father was gracious enough to hold it in his house, and he's even feeling well enough to be up and about these days. There's food and champagne, and soft music playing in the background. There's laughter, and storytelling, and the happy couple dancing in the middle of the room blissfully unaware of anything around them. It's all that a wedding reception should be.

Arthur's leaning against a wall out of the way, with a drink in hand, when Guinevere approaches. "Hello there, stranger," she says, smile uncertain on her lips. "You're looking well."

"And you," he replies. It's really the first time that all of them have been gathered together in one place (except for the funeral, but no one did much talking then). Arthur knows this can go one of two ways: they can be polite and courteous today, and any other times they happen to be forced together, and never speak to each other outside of these occasions. Or…

He knows they can never get back what they had. But maybe they can make something better.

Arthur sets his drink down onto a nearby table, steps forward suddenly, and wraps his arms around Gwen's shoulders. "I've missed you," he says into her hair.

He feels her shoulders tremble and her breath hitch, and then she's wrapping her arms around him, as well. "I've missed you, too, Arthur." They break apart and she's smiling for real now. "You look happy," she says, wiping at her eyes. "I'm glad. It's been… so long since I've seen you truly happy."

"Same to you." He looks across the room to find Merlin, who's currently hugging the life out of Lance. "Will he mind if you dance with me?"

Gwen glances in that direction, too, and a sly look steals over her face. "I don't know. Will he?"

Grinning, Arthur takes her hand. They're soon joined on the dance floor by Morgana and Uther, sweeping wide circles around the rest of them, and Merlin has been captured by Morgana's frightening girlfriend, Morgause. Lance stands awkwardly to the side until Hunith coaxes him out. They all switch partners when the songs change until Arthur's sure he's stepped on everyone's toes at least once.

Finally, he's face to face with Merlin. Neither of them have any rhythm and they're pretty much hopeless as a dancing pair. But their awkward steps are in synch, if only with each other.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This story kept wanting to run off on all these different tangents; it was quite a chore trying to keep it on track. The history between Gaius and Alice alone could fill a book (one I'd totally read, btw). Gwen and Lance have this whole huge story all their own. Morgana and Morgause, and Uther and Leon, also have a tale to tell. Even Percival's story is interesting, if more mundane. Also, one of Will's groupies, never named in this fic, had an amazing, yet ultimately tragic, life. Unfortunately, none of these stories will ever be written, but I hope it's enough to know that they existed in brief flickers and snatches of dialogue.


End file.
